Iron and Blood
by True Warden of the East
Summary: Through war, pain, and against the all world they stand together, because "The great questions of the day will not be settled by means of speeches and majority decisions but by iron and blood."  Ever since the day Prussia found a child in the woods.
1. Brüderchen

_(June 1815)_

"Damn Austria," Prussia muttered to himself. "Damn him, and hell, why not Hungary, and my stupid boss, and hell, how about Russia? I seriously do not like that guy. Oh, and did I mention damn Austria?" No one took any notice of him as he sulked his way down the streets of whatever village he was in. He wasn't even sure if he was in his own borders at this point. He blamed the alcohol for that fact. And Austria. It was that damn aristocrat's fault that he was pissed off enough to need to get that drunk in the first place.

The Congress of Vienna had just ended. A fine example of international cooperation and politics at its finest. And a whole crock of bullshit.

_"Does anyone have any questions?" Austria asked._

_ "Just one," France said. "I'm afraid it is a little awkward, but… now that the Holy Roman Empire has…"_

_ "Officially bought it?" Prussia interrupted._

_ France glared at him. "Well I would have liked to be less blunt about it," he said. "But yes. Now that he is no longer with us, what will happen to the lands he controlled?"_

"_The German states will be organized into a German Confederation," Austria answered. "It will have much the same borders as the Confederation of the Rhine set out by Napoleon. Prussia and I will both be members of the Confederation."_

"_Oh, that should go smoothly," England muttered under his breath._

"_Anyway," Austria continued, "there will be states as well as some independent kingdoms and cities. It will be governed by a Diet, under an Austrian presidency-"_

"_Hold on a second!" Prussia shouted. Austria flinched, although he had been expecting an outburst. _

"_Yes, Prussia?" he said._

"_Just who said you could put yourself if charge, huh?" Prussia demanded._

And there lay the root of Prussia's frustration. What the hell gave that stupid aristocrat the right to pull a stunt like that?

"_Well then," Austria said as they argued, "perhaps you had someone better in mind to hold presidency in the Diet?"_

"_Well, you know you aren't the only big player around," Prussia retorted._

"_Perhaps not, but I am the biggest." Prussia made as if to respond. "And before you say anything about your own power here, I can assure you I am fully aware of it. But you, sir, are a soldier, not a statesman. Look at yourself now! You're wearing a military uniform to a Congress in peacetime."_

"_Well sorry if it offends you," Prussia spat. "My other suit was in the laundry."_

"_Prussia, I do not deny that you can fight a war. But the Confederation does not need a war. Confederations of any sort, by their very nature, are difficult to maintain. I know how to run an empire, you do not, and until you can provide compelling evidence to the contrary, do not interfere with me."_

_Prussia's expression darkened._

"_And," Austria went on, "be aware that should you get it into your fool head to attempt to take control by force, I will meet you blow for blow. Despite what you may think, I have not remained in power for this long by being completely incompetent on the battlefield. Are we clear?"_

Prussia wasn't sure what angered him more: the fact that Austria had seized control like that, or the fact that Prussia had let him do it. He was just as much a country as Austria, and damn had he had to fight for it. But even he had to admit; a war now would do no one any good (though it would sure as hell be satisfying). Austria was right that this Confederation would be pretty weak. Perhaps it was time to learn to play the statesman, rather than the soldier? Prussia shuddered at the thought. He had no patience for politics or statecraft. Battle: that made sense. You shot a man, he died; you had better tactics, better soldiers, and you won. Not hard. There was a clear chain of command. Not so with politics.

In his angered stupor, Prussia found that he had wondered to the outskirts of the unknown village. There was a thick wood surrounding the place, with only a barely maintained path to guide any travelers. What little good sense Prussia had warned him against going any farther. His getting hopelessly lost in a forest would not serve anyone. Then again, he thought, it was bound to be more exciting than going back home. Maybe he would get attacked by a bear or something. That would actually really improve his day.

So, into the trees he went. He followed the path for a while, but then he thought he spied a deer in the distance. He stalked after it, memories of hunting flooding back to him. It had been too long since he'd had a good hunt. While he had no means of bringing the animal down, he still followed it, just to feel some of that old rush again. After a while, though, he lost the deer. And then he realized that he had also lost the path. Well, that was a bit annoying. He sighed, vaguely wondering if it would be getting dark soon. Oddly enough, he could not seem to bring himself to care. He was tired, and his head ached, so he found a spot under a stout tree and let his back fall against it, breathing out a deep sigh of relief, and then deciding to drape his coat over himself like a blanket. Lying under that tree was complete bliss. At last, he was alone, no one was trying to shoot him, and the cares of the world seemed so far away and small from here. Even he had to admit, as he let the quiet envelope him, peace had its advantages.

Prussia did not even realize he was drifting off into sleep until it was disturbed by the sound of rustling leaves nearby. His entire body tensed, and for a moment he tried to reach for the rifle that he suddenly realized was not actually there. He shook his head, telling himself it was probably just a squirrel or something.

Then again, he thought as he looked in the direction of the noise, squirrels did not usually have blonde hair or blue eyes.

"Who are you?" the boy asked him.

He regarded the child, curiously. Humans didn't normally approach him so openly. And children didn't normally wonder this far out into the forest, either.

"You lost, kid?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"That," Prussia began, "is a slightly complicated question." He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, now that it was evident that there was no threat. "You cold, or something?" he said, noticing that the boy seemed to be shivering slightly.

He shook his head, but made his way towards Prussia, anyway, taking the edge of his coat and pulling it towards himself. Prussia let him do it. He was fine, and he noticed that the kid's clothes were thin, and torn, and pretty filthy. It looked like he had been wondering around the woods for ages.

"How long have you been out here?" Prussia asked.

"For as long as I can remember."

"What? You don't remember anything but this forest?" Prussia said. "You hit your head or something?"

The boy shook his head. Then he looked up at Prussia, his large blue eyes meeting red ones. "You didn't tell me your name," he said, wrapping Prussia's coat tighter around his small frame.

"Name's Prussia," he responded. He waited for the confused expression, or the laugh, or the 'you must be out of your mind' look, but it didn't come.

Instead the boy tilted his head. "Brother?" he said.

Prussia was shocked for a moment, then confused, before the realization finally dawned on him. "The name 'German Confederation' mean anything to you?"

The boy nodded. "My name," he said simply.

So that was it then. A new nation. And… Holy crap, he had said 'brother', hadn't he?

...

Prussia was not entirely sure how he felt about having a little brother. However, he was sure that he did not like the fact that Austria was interfering _again_.

Austria was sitting across from him in the dumb aristocrat's study. When he had arrived, Hungary had run off with Germany almost the instant she saw him, fawning over him the whole time. Apparently she really liked kids. That had left Prussia stuck with Austria to figure out how they were going to care for the new nation.

"Prussia, you have no idea how to raise a child," he said. And, unfortunately, Prussia could not really deny that. He knew how to help kids _rebel_ (just ask England) but that probably wouldn't help them in this case.

"He's still my brother," Prussia replied.

"Which is the only reason I am even discussing this affair with you," Austria said, sounding snooty as ever, Prussia thought. Then Austria sighed. "I am willing to discuss joint custody with you."

Prussia gave a derisive snort. This whole thing was completely ridiculous. Though he wasn't sure if he was more upset that Austria was trying to control everything again, or more confused that he cared so much. After all, he really didn't know anything about kids, and why should he want to have to learn? He didn't even like children. They were loud, and annoying, and dirty, and having to be a responsible adult figure did not appeal to Prussia in the slightest. So why was he bothering to argue about this?

Frankly, he didn't know. But that wouldn't stop him.

"Fine, let's make a deal," Prussia said, resigning himself. He knew it would be impossible to lock Austria out entirely, so he may as well get the best deal he could out of the situation.

Austria nodded.

* * *

><p><em>(July 1815)<em>

Austria had care of the new German Confederation first (much to Prussia's dismay). Actually, Austria was surprised by how hard Prussia had fought for the boy. At first, Austria had believed it was only the other man's pride talking, but later it became clear that it was something more than that. Could Prussia actually care for the child?

Austria was very busy, so he was not home often. Hungary was there though, and she was very fond of Germany. She told him often that she missed having children around the house. Italy had long since moved out, and Holy Rome…Holy Rome was not mentioned often anymore. But now, Austria was glad to see her happy.

One day, he came home, and saw Hungary arranging some flowers in the foyer. When she saw him, though, she gave him a queer expression. "Did you just go out?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "I have been out all day."

"You have?" she said. "But, then, who was at the piano just now?"

Austria didn't have an answer for that. As far as he knew, he was the only one in the house who played any instrument. But, sure enough, as he and Hungary made their way along the corridor, he heard a little melody winding its way down the hall from his music room.

He opened the door slowly, and peeked inside. To his surprise, he saw Germany sitting at the piano, legs dangling off the bench, and fingers dancing across the keys, playing a lovely, if unfamiliar tune.

"Oh," his startled little voice said when he noticed them. "I'm sorry." Germany looked down, sheepishly, taking his hands from the keys.

"No, that was beautiful," Hungary exclaimed, walking inside.

"Indeed, it was," Austria said. Germany looked up at him. The child didn't smile often, but Austria could see that he was pleased by the approval.

"I heard you playing," Germany said. "And I liked it. I wanted to try."

"Let me hear you play again," Austria said. Germany turned back to face the keys, and started to play again. "Here, try this," Austria said, adjusting the boy's fingers.

Hungary smiled, and stole out of the room, quietly. Austria was so busy lately that he hardly ever had time for music anymore. She didn't want to interrupt.

* * *

><p><em>(October 1824)<em>

"Hey, Germany, you in here?" Prussia said, leaning his head through the door of his library.

Sure enough, there he was, in the armchair, with a large tome open across his comically small lap. He looked up when Prussia walked in.

"Hello," he said.

This library had gotten very little use in its time (the amazing Prussia had better things to do in his spare time than read silly books). He wouldn't have even had it at all, but his boss made him put it in so they would seem more cultured or something stupid like that. However, it turned out that his little brother loved to read. He did it nearly all the time. Germany liked to go outside too, especially to play with the dogs, but… he got tired so easily. Prussia had watched him collapse more than once. And he was sick so often. He was a Confederation, and those were always weaker by nature, but Prussia was worried, nonetheless. He remembered the time some crazies had started assassinating members of Germany's government. The kid had become so ill after that, the doctor had said he might not make it through the week. God, Prussia thought. He had felt so powerless then, and so scared. This time, there was no enemy to face on the battlefield. Just a sick child he didn't know how to help.

But, the kid had recovered, and now he was here. Reading. At least he would always be able to read. Prussia walked over and leaned over Germany's shoulder.

"What'cha reading?" he asked.

Germany showed him the cover in answer. It said _De Bello Galico_. "Not bad," Prussia replied. It was one of the few books in the library he, himself, had actually read.

"I've been reading about the Roman Empire a lot," Germany said. "But I can't figure out why he disappeared."

"Well, you know," Prussia answered. "Lots of economic troubles, and his leaders were all nuts. And something about Vandals?"

"I know about all _that_," Germany replied. "I understand why he fell, I just don't get why he vanished. I mean, he was so powerful and big and strong, so why did he go away?"

That Prussia did not have an answer to. So he just shrugged.

"Brother, can we get a piano?" Germany asked.

"Huh?" Prussia said. That was a random question.

"I've been learning to play at Austria's house, but he says I need to practice everyday, and I can't practice here because we don't have a piano."

"Oh. Uh…sure, I guess," he replied, more focused on the question of why anyone would want to learn to play a dumb piano in the first place.

"Thank you," Germany said, giving Prussia a rare smile. The boy didn't smile very often. But Prussia liked it when he did. "Oh, and I had one more question."

"Shoot."

"You know those books on the very top shelf, over there," Germany said, pointing. Prussia's heart fell into his stomach. "What were those people doing? I mean, in the ones with pictures it kind of looked like wrestling, but I don't think that's what it was. I mean, I think they were all naked. And how come that one guy seemed to like getting tied up so much?"

Prussia had to clench his teeth to keep the string of curses from escaping his throat, but he was sure as hell screaming them in his head. This was not how he wanted _this _discussion to come up. Frankly, he had been hoping the kid would just ask Austria where goddamn babies came from.

"Okay, uh, first of all… The top shelf is for, uh, grown up books. That you don't get to read until your older. Like, a lot older." How the hell had he forgotten about those things, anyway? He had probably put them there to spite his boss for making him get a library and just left them.

"Why not?" Germany asked.

"Because I'm your brother, and I say so," Prussia said quickly. Thankfully, the kid didn't press it. "And, do us both a favor, and don't tell Austria or Hungary about this?"

"Um, okay," replied Germany. "But, why not?"

"Because I'm you brother, and I say so." Germany gave a frustrated sigh.

* * *

><p><em>(April 1842)<em>

The sweet familiar bang of a firing rifle and the smell of gunpowder made Prussia smile. And so did the new gun. The new breech-loader was much easier to use than a muzzle loading rifle, and the self contained cartridge cut down on reload time as well. He couldn't wait to really see it in action.

Now, though, his little brother was struggling to aim the Needle Gun. Prussia had figured it was time to teach the kid something useful (like how to shoot), so he had taken him outside his house to an empty field where he liked to practice himself. It was early morning. The sound of shots had driven birds and animals away, so it was eerily quiet.

Germany fired again, with Prussia watching close behind him. The shot missed the target, but only barely, Prussia was sure. Germany, his face set in a determined expression, reloaded (he was getting much better at that part) and fired again, this time managing to graze the target.

"Not bad," Prussia said. "But, hey, that's my awesome teaching skills at work."

Germany rolled his eyes, reloaded, and fired again. Another miss. "Brother," he said as he reloaded again. "Are we going to be at war soon?"

"Huh? What makes you ask that?"

Germany fired again. He hit the targets edge. "I just wanted to know. Since you're teaching me how to shoot, and everyone seems so suspicious all the time. All the other countries I meet act like someone is going to attack them at any moment. So, I wanted to know." He fired again. This one hit.

Prussia didn't really know what to say. "I'm not teaching you how to shoot because we're about to fight a war," he said, figuring that was true enough.

"What are wars like?" Germany asked.

"Depends on whether or not you win."

Germany didn't say anything. He just fired again. "How strong do you have to be to win a war?" he asked, after a time.

"It's not always about strength," Prussia answered. "Sometimes it's about better tactics, or better troops, or better leaders or morale. Sometimes it's just luck. Unless you're me of course. I always win."

"No you don't."

"Well, I always win when it counts."

Germany only rolled his eyes again. "Are you and Austria going to fight a war?" he asked, suddenly.

"Seriously, kid, where are all these questions coming from?"

"I just want to know," Germany said.

"Well," Prussia began. "We've fought wars before. We probably will again." Prussia thought that might not have been the best answer, when he saw the sad look on his brother's face.

"Oh, okay. Um, if you do fight a war," Germany said, "Could you try not to hurt each other too badly?"

Prussia paused for a moment, caught off guard and not at all sure how to answer. Of course, he didn't want to upset the kid too badly so he just said, "Sure. We won't hurt each other too badly."

That seemed to cheer him up a bit, though he still didn't smile. "Thank you." He went to raise the gun again, but then he shuddered, then a loud cough broke through his lips. Prussia leaned forward, taking the gun from his hands and setting it as far aside as he could, while Germany's body shook with wracking coughs.

His hands shot up to cover his mouth, and Prussia saw that they came back flecked with red. He put his hands on he brother's shoulders to steady him, as he waited for the episode to pass. Germany's too-small frame quivered beneath his hands, and finally, the boy sank weakly to the ground, still shaking and gasping for breath.

"Hey, you okay?" Prussia asked once the coughing had subsided.

"No, I'm not," Germany cried, weakly. "I hate this. I hate that I'm sick, and weak, and that I can't do anything. And I hate that I have to be protected, and I always hurt, and I'm scared. I don't want to be scared anymore!" He turned his face away, but Prussia could still see the tears glistening in his eyes.

"Come here," he said, wrapping his arms around his little brother. Germany didn't resist. He just lay in Prussia's arms, trying to hide his tears.

"Prussia? What if I get sick, but I don't get better?" he finally asked.

"That's not going to happen," Prussia replied, his tone firm.

"But what if it _does_?"

"It _won't_," Prussia repeated. "You're going to grow up, and get strong. If things are rough now, that only makes you tougher down the line. And I'll be there. I'll make sure nothing happens to you. Just so long as you promise me you will not ever give up." He turned Germany's face to his. His eyes were red, but Prussia looked at him squarely and said, "You hear me? You have to promise not to give up."

"I promise," Germany replied softly.

"Good. Now, come on, let's go inside." Prussia picked up the rifle, and started leading him away. Germany's steps were faulty, but his expression was determined. Prussia kept his pace slow, so the kid could keep up. Finally, they made it back. Germany was exhausted, but at least he seemed less upset. When he started to cough again, though, he was hurried away by a doctor and shoved into bed.

Prussia watched as they left. He was angry. He didn't know who or what he was angry at, but there it was. His brother was sick, and there was still nothing he could do. The damn kid was in tears about it, but still he was powerless. That wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was the goddamn Kingdom of Prussia, so why was there nothing he could do?

He felt the urge to hit something.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Notes<em>**

Wow, first story :) Anyway, I just thought a quick rundown of the historical events and concepts referenced was in order here (so you can legitimately say you were studying instead of just reading fanfiction). Now, my explanations are woefully short, but a quick google search will get you plenty of better information, if you are curious.

- The Congress of Vienna: Took place after the end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815. Notable (among other things) for being Russia's major debut into Western European politics, establishing the German Confederation, and attempting to create a "Congress System" in European diplomacy, allowing diplomats to convene to solve problems rather than resorting to wars (naturally this part failed rather spectacutarly, but kudos for trying, guys.)

- German Dualism: The long standing rivalry between Austria and Prussia for dominance in Central Europe and the German States between 1740 and 1866 (a normal person sees historical jargon, and Hetalia fan sees a custody battle ;D)

- Prussian Needle Gun (Dreyse Zündnadelgewehr): adopted by the Prussian army in 1841, this was the first practical, military, breech-loading, bolt action rifle. Totally revolutionary design and it established the standard for cartridge ammunition, rather than dumping powders down the gun and praying. I'm sorry, I just really like old weapons.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. Please review, and if you have any constructive criticism, I am ready and eager to hear it!


	2. 1848

_ (May 1848)_

He felt tired, heavy. And everything was dark. Strange, it had been so light out a moment ago. And it had been warm. But he was cold now.

"Germany? Germany!"

_My name? I wonder who's calling._

"What's- God dammit! Germany!"

"He's not breathing!"

_I'm not? Oh, she's right. I'm not._

"Hungary, move! Hey, kid, hold on. Come on, stay with me."

He felt pressure on his chest. It hurt.

_I wasn't even that sick this time. _

He wanted to say something, but his throat wasn't working. Nothing was working. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. And it was still so dark.

_Is this what happens when you get sick but don't get better?_

"Come on, come on!"

_Is that brother's voice?_

"I'm getting a doctor."

_And that's Miss Hungary, isn't it? Yes, I remember now. I'm at my brother's house. I was playing outside, and Miss Hungary came to visit us. She visits a lot. I don't think she trusts Prussia to take care of me._

"Germany? You have to breathe, you hear me?"

_I can't. I'm trying, but I can't._

"Don't give up. Dammit, don't quit now."

_That's right. I promised. I promised I wouldn't give up._

The pressure continued on his chest, and now he felt it on his lips as well. His lungs screamed, trying to burst free of invisible bonds. But nothing was happening.

_I don't want to die._

He could barely feel the rhythmic beating on his chest. He was numb. He could feel himself fading away.

_I don't want to die!_

All at once sensation came flooding back. His chest expanded, bringing warmth, air, and pain. Oh God, it hurt. Why did it hurt so badly?

"Germany?"

The only answer he could manage was a strangled cry. He felt strong arms him up, and he clung back in response. He grabbed tightly to the familiar fabric of the uniform his brother was always wearing. Maybe if he held on tight enough it would drive the pain away.

"It's okay, little brother. You're gonna be fine."

"It hurts."

"I know, but you have to be tough, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

...

Prussia came in barking orders. "Get some water, now! And wet a cloth; make sure it's cold. And where the hell is that damn doctor?"

He went up to Germany's bedroom, and laid the boy on the bed. He was fiery to the touch, and his breathing was shallow. How had this happened so fast? He had seemed fine just a moment ago.

Servants arrived with water, hot and cold. Prussia took the cool, damp, cloth to lay it across Germany's brow. At least it might help get the fever down. He needed to do something though. His medical training with the Teutonic Knights came rushing back to him, even if it was a few hundred years out of date. Though, he supposed, some things never changed much.

At last, Hungary came in with the doctor.

"We should go," she said. "Let him work."

He shot her a venomous glare. "I am not leaving this room," he said, and luckily the doctor knew better than to challenge him. Hungary, taken aback, left the room, murmuring something about needing to tell Austria what had happened.

Prussia just sat, and watched. The doctor worked calmly and methodically, drawing blood, checking his pulse, mixing medicines, but nothing seemed to change. Even as the sky grew dark, nothing seemed to be happening, and that frustrated Prussia to no end.

Finally, the doctor stopped. "I've done what I can," he declared. "I'm afraid this sort of case isn't my specialty."

Prussia only scowled. It was true that they didn't exactly work the same way as humans did, in terms of their health, but dammit, why was this guy giving up so soon?

"He's stable, at least for now," the doctor said. "All we can do is let him rest."

Prussia nodded, still not speaking. Germany was still lying on the bed, pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. He was still breathing, at least. Breathing steadily as he slept.

"I will be back to check on him in the morning-" the doctor began.

"Just go," Prussia said, not trying to hide the anger in his voice. The doctor bowed, slightly, before moving swiftly out of the room. Prussia just sat, and waited.

Hungary came by again in the morning. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked.

"Wasn't tired."

"That's ridiculous," she replied. "Or did you forget that these revolutions are making you sick too?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does! God, why are you all so stubborn! Austria won't let himself rest either, and he's about to collapse on his feet. And what exactly do you plan to accomplish by wasting yourself away like this?" she demanded. "It won't help him get better."

"Then tell me what will," he said. He turned his gaze towards her, angry red eyes boring right through her, or so it seemed, at least.

Hungary sighed. "There is one option, but you won't like it."

"What is it?"

"Austria thinks that he has people who can help," she said. "He is already working on stopping the rebellions," she said, though she shuddered slightly. "If we can bring him to Austria-"

Prussia let out a bark of a laugh, but there was no humor behind it. "I should have guessed. Damn aristocrat-"

"It isn't like that!" Hungary cried. "Time is crucial here. The best help for Germany is in Austria, so he needs to get there soon!"

"Figures," Prussia spat. "And Austria finally gets full control over the states."

"That isn't why he's doing this-"

"I don't care." Prussia rose. "Come on, we'll need a carriage."

"What?" Hungary said. "You're actually agreeing to this."

"Not like I have much of a choice. And where the hell is that doctor? It's gonna be dangerous, moving him like this."

Prussia left the room, leaving Hungary in shock. She had been so sure Prussia would never have let them take Germany so easily. But she was grateful that he had. After all, they didn't have much time. Still, she felt a stab of pity for him. She could only imagine what was going on in his head, being forced to let his brother go like this.

The ride in the carriage was tense and silent, except for the occasional gunshot in the distance. As Hungary looked at Prussia, it was obvious that he should not have been travelling. He was clearly weaker that before, and the motion of the carriage was turning him an off-putting shade of green. The revolutions were taking their toll on him, even if he wouldn't admit it. It was ironic, Hungary thought as she looked at the child before her. These revolutionaries wanted to unite Germany, to make it a strong nation.

And yet, here their country was, weak and dying because of it. Maybe it was the violence. Most states had seen some bloodshed. She didn't think there was much chance of Germany surviving a violent uprising, at least not in this condition. But, honestly she didn't know how to feel. She sympathized with nearly everything these people stood for. They had no way of knowing what their actions were doing to this child. That abolishing the Confederation could kill him.

When they arrived, Austria was there to meet them. He looked exhausted, but his voice rang loud and clear when it came time to give orders, as all of them were led from the carriage to their rooms. Well, they tried to lead Prussia to his room. He was having none of it. The idiot refused to leave his brother's side.

Eventually, the doctor persuaded him to wait outside, which Prussia agreed to, however reluctantly. He sat in a chair, for the rest of the day, while the doctor worked. Eventually, Austria came to see him.

"They told me you were still here," Austria said upon seeing the other nation.

Prussia looked up at him. "You look like shit," he commented.

"Can't really deny that," he sighed. "Not that you look much better yourself."

Prussia only grunted. Then he added, "I know what's happening here. When I leave, I know it'll be alone."

Austria felt a pang of guilt. "I didn't want it to happen like this. I was fine with our arrangement with Germany, but…I couldn't explain it to my boss. He insisted that we had to take full control, and when he found out about the boy's condition…I can't believe I'm actually saying this to you of all people, but I am sorry. If I could change his mind, I would."

"Yes. I know," Prussia replied. "And you should know that I'm not giving up that easily."

Austria nodded. "I would expect no less from you."

Prussia sighed. "These revolutions need to stop."

"I am doing what I can. Hopefully my boss will be able to return from Innsbruck soon. We can figure something out."

"Mine made a bunch of concessions. That quieted things down enough," Prussia said.

"We've tried that, but nothing has stuck yet." Austria sighed; then he said, "I fear this will end in bloodshed."

Prussia gave a humorless chuckle. "Welcome to Europe, rich boy," he said. "That's how we work."

* * *

><p><em>(August 1848)<em>

Prussia could feel the sweat trickle down his back as the sun beat down on him. He stood in a line of soldiers, Austrian soldiers. Before him stood a mob. They were shouting, but he had long since stopped listening. It didn't matter what they had to say. He saw one man throw a piece of rotten fruit at the line of soldiers. His clothes were filthy, and his hair a matted mess. His projectile fell well short of its target. All manner of people, old and young, men and women were in the crowd. Sometimes it was easy to pick out an individual face, and sometimes they all just seemed like one, huge, yelling mass. They were the poor, the workers, the starving, alongside the students, the young and the hopeful, and the idealistic. They were the reason his brother was dying.

He felt another shoulder brush against his, and then a familiar voice against his ear.

"What are you doing here," Hungary asked him.

"My duty," he replied simply.

"Since when have you considered defending Austria your duty?"

"Who says it's him I'm here defending?"

She sighed. He could hear her, feel her close to him, but he never once looked at her. His eyes were fixed in front of him. He was a soldier. A soldier didn't break his attention.

"This is wrong," she said.

He didn't answer.

"They just want their rights, they want to work. They want to feed their children. Is that so bad?"

A woman in the crowd started shouting at the soldiers. Then a man with red hair started to taunt them. Another woman insulted Austria's boss. It was a funny insult. Prussia almost wanted to laugh at it. She was an older woman, her brown hair flecked with gray. She probably had children, and maybe even grandchildren. She looked like she would have been a kind grandmother.

"You think you can help him by doing this," Hungary said. Her voice was almost pleading now. "How will this help him?"

"I'm putting down a mob. A rebellion."

"These people mean no harm. Look at them! Dammit, they don't even have weapons!"

"No," Prussia replied. "They don't."

"READY!" an officer's voice called. Pure reflex, trained in camp and perfected on the field of battle, guided Prussia's hands. He gazed along the barrel of his rifle, which ended in the point of a bayonet.

"Finally," he thought to himself. "Finally I can do something."

"FIRE!"

The smoke from the gunpowder filled his nose and mouth. Black residue covered the side of his face. For a moment he was blind and nearly deafened by the shots, but it didn't last. It was only a few seconds before he could hear the mob screaming.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Notes<em>**

Okay, another history lesson!

Revolutions of 1848: A big year for Europe (particularly the German States). Revolutions, mostly started by students and young people who wanted more liberal, democratic governments, swept across Europe. The wave or German revolutions began in Austria with the March Revolution, and it quickly spread. In Germany there was also added nationalist sentiment, and people wanted Germany to become a united country. The attempts to unify the country totally failed. The revolutions often became violent as well, such as barricades being constructed by revolutionaries throughout Prussia, and one case in Vienna in August of 1848 when Austrian troops fired on a group of unarmed demonstrators, who were protesting poverty and unemployment. And any progress made by the revolutions towards greater civil rights and liberties was erased by 1851.

Again, the internet can provide you with much more, better quality information than I can.

Thanks for sticking with me through another chapter :D Again, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and desired.


	3. Empire Part 1

_(January 1864)_

Austria regarded the other nation, his face devoid of expression. Actually, in this case, he was glad he'd had so much practice keeping up a neutral mask. It was difficult to manage when he was sure he had fallen into some kind of parallel universe.

"Please allow me to get this straight, Prussia," Austria said. "You _want_ me to go to war with you."

Prussia nodded. "Yes."

"And by 'war with you' you mean fighting alongside you, and not against you, as has been our habit for over a century?"

Rolling his eyes, Prussia repeated, "Yes."

"I see," Austria said. Then he asked, "Have you completely taken leave of your senses, or it this a temporary state of insanity?"

"Look," Prussia said. "My boss said to make nice with you, so I'm doing it. Doesn't mean I have to _like_ it, but what can I do, right? Anyway, Denmark violated his treaty with the German Confederation. So, that seems like a pretty damn good when reason to go to war, right?"

"I gathered all of that," said Austria. "I am just baffled by the fact that you want me involved."

"Take it up with my boss, I'm just the messenger."

Austria frowned, slightly. He did not know why Prussia's boss had sent his country to him, but he got the nagging feeling there was a message being sent. And it had Bismarck's name written all over it. Austria knew neither he nor his government particularly wanted to get involved in this, but what choice did they have? Without them, the Confederation had little hope against Denmark, and refusing to get involved would make them seem weak, would it not? While Prussia might not realize it, Austria was stuck in a corner.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Prussia finally asked, "How is he?"

"Germany is very well," Austria answered. Anticipating Prussia's next question, he said, "He is still in Innsbruck."

"I figured," Prussia replied. Austria, mostly out of guilt, had done his best to secure regular visits and correspondence between Germany and Prussia, but he knew that his boss was not happy about his actions. He seemed determined that they should interact as little as possible. And, for the most part, he got his way. Austria disliked the entire situation, but there was little he could do to change it.

"_You should know that I'm not giving up that easily."_

_ "I would expect no less from you."_

Austria mentally made note of yet another compelling reason that he should trust his silver-haired peer approximately as far as he could throw him and stood up to escort him out. Prussia seemed all too ready to go. Once he had left, Austria rang a little bell and after a few moments, a servant came in.

"Good day," Austria said. "Tell the kitchen to begin preparing a luncheon, and have it brought to my study. After that, please ensure that no one disturbs me. Oh, and be so good as to inform my boss that we should begin preparing for war."

* * *

><p><em>(June 1866)<em>

Prussia grinned as he surveyed the territory that they had won back. Of course, Denmark had barely stood a chance against him. Poor fool had been doomed the moment Prussia had crossed the border into Schleswig-Holstein. After all, he had always been most at home on the battlefield

Austria stood beside him. The aristocrat had actually been pretty useful Prussia was surprised to say. The Confederation had bailed on them, not that he was shocked by that fact. Their government was a weak bunch of bureaucrats that couldn't have organized their way out of a paper bag. But he aimed the change that. Germany deserved better.

"I suppose some sort of congratulations are in order?" Austria said. "Frankly, I am unused to standing alongside you once a conflict is done."

"Too used to me kicking your ass?" Prussia said, smirking

"Too used to watching my wife kicking yours, actually," Austria retorted, wiping the smug expression off Prussia's face.

"Hmph. Well, you're right, it is pretty weird. Us fighting together."

"Indeed."

"I don't plan on making a habit of it."

"Nor do I," Austria replied.

"Yeah. And speaking of fighting-" In a flash of movement, Prussia drew his sword from its scabbard at his waist, and swung it in a fluid motion towards Austria. To his surprise, he heard the ringing sound of metal on metal and saw that Austria had met his attack with a strong parry.

"You intend to declare war, I suppose?" Austria said, sardonically. "How uncouth."

Austria riposted, but Prussia had already taken a fighting stance, and was easily able to step back, causing the thrust to miss. "I just couldn't resist," Prussia said, smug grin returning to his face. He lunged, attempting to cut low.

Austria met his blade with another parry and a step back. "And you really didn't think I would see it coming?" he said. "How idiotic do you think I am?"

Prussia shrugged, but he had to cut the motion short in order to parry another high blow from Austria. "I don't think you want to hear the honest answer to that, rich boy," he replied as their duel continued.

To Prussia's surprise, Austria was matching him blow for blow. Every attack was met with a strong defense and counterattack. Austria almost managed to catch him a few times. Turned out the prissy aristocrat had some fight in him after all. That was good, Prussia thought. Otherwise this whole thing would have just been too boring. Not that it really mattered in the end. All Prussia really had to do was bide his time.

Austria turned aside another blow, but instead of counterattacking a shocked expression crossed his features. He gasped in shock, then pain, and collapsed, clutching his side.

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Prussia said, kicking away Austria's sword. "Italy's come to war with me, too."

"What?"

"Turns out those silly Italians want to be one country," Prussia said with a mock sigh. "So, I just thought I would help them out, if you don't mind."

"You bastard," Austria said through clenched teeth.

Prussia could not help but chuckle at his fallen rival. It wasn't quite fair, he reflected, as he watched Austria grimace from the pain of an unexpected assault, but then again, life just wasn't fair. And if life was unfair, then war was just a downright bitch.

He lowered his own blade, so the tip was pointed towards Austria's chest.

"Told you I wouldn't quit that easily," he said. Austria looked up at him. He knew he was beaten. He knew that his armies would fall soon enough. But the fire in his eyes never faltered. His face was the same, steel mask it had always been.

Let's see if we can fix that, Prussia thought, not even bothering to try and hold back a cruel smile. He did so love every opportunity he had to make the arrogant bastard beg for mercy.

"_Brother, if you and Austria do fight a war," Germany said, "Could you try not to hurt each other too badly?"_

Prussia paused as the memory came completely unbidden to his mind.

"_Sure. We won't hurt each other too badly."_

"Dammit," he said. He could clearly recall that morning in the field, the smell of gunpowder, the eerie silence, his brother's face. Why couldn't the memory of that promise have waited just a few more minutes, he thought, mournfully. But there was no going back now. He sheathed his sword.

"I'm going to win this war," he stated simply.

Austria did not bother arguing with him.

"You know what I want," he said.

"The Confederation," Austria said.

"My brother. I don't give a single damn about all the politics," Prussia said.

Austria sighed and shook his head. "An entire war," he said. "All for the sake of a child?"

"Well, that and the fact I really like beating you up," Prussia said, the smirk returning once again. "I mean, you really should see your face, right now,"

"I dislike you intensely," Austria said.

"Fine by me."

Prussia walked away.

* * *

><p><em>(September 1866)<em>

Germany checked all of his bags again. Every article of clothing was immaculately folded; every possession was in its place. At last, he was satisfied, and he called for a few of Austria's servants to help take his belongings down to the carriage that awaited him.

When he arrived downstairs, both Austria and Hungary were waiting for him. Hungary rushed up and embraced him warmly, telling him to be careful and stay safe, and several other worried admonishments. As he disentangled himself from her arms, he looked at Austria. While the war had clearly taken its toll on him, he stood erect and strong, never letting anyone see that he had been beaten. Germany respected that in his former guardian. It was something that he hoped to be able to emulate.

Austria shook his hand before he left. "Farewell, Germany," he said.

Germany nodded, and said "Farewell." He was almost at eye level with Austria now. He was surpised as how quickly he had been growing lately. Of course, that meant most of his clothes were quickly becoming too snug as well. Even the jacket he wore today was a little too short in the sleeves.

He turned to go, but before he left, he turned and said "I want to thank you both, for all you've done for me," he said. "And I promise, I will become a worthy ally one day, to repay you for everything." Then he left them both behind, and climbed into the carriage.

The trip to Berlin was a long one, and he had never been able to stand reading while the carriage rocked and swayed, so he had plenty of time to think. The moment he found out his brother had gone to war with Austria, he knew that things would change for him. But he didn't know what to expect, now. The German Confederation was going to be abolished, and the borders redrawn to exclude Austria and most of the South. It would be strange thinking of Austria, who had been at least partially responsible for raising him, as a completely separate county now. And to add to all that, Prussia had promised him that he would become a real country soon, not just a confederation.

He wasn't sure whether that fact excited or terrified him. One the one hand, he did want to become a nation. He hated feeling so weak. Like in the war over Schleswig-Holstein, he had been completely useless. Of course, useless was a step up from invalid, but neither was something he was proud of. And his people, they wanted a real nation too. But part of him was still afraid. Afraid of the responsibility, the power he would hold. Afraid of the damage he could do if he did something wrong.

Germany pushed those thoughts aside. They had no place in his mind, and they would only hold him back. He could not afford to hesitate. Whatever it took to earn and keep the power he needed, he was ready to do it.

It was late when they finally reached Berlin. Nevertheless, the moment the carriage pulled up, Germany heard a familiar (and loud) voice shouting a greeting.

"Hey, Germany!" Prussia called as Germany lowered himself out of the carriage. "Looks like you finally decided to show up."

Germany rolled his eyes. "How are you, Prussia?" he asked.

His brother laughed. "Never better! Now, come on inside, there's someone you have to meet."

"Now?" Germany said. "But it's the middle of the night."

"So? Hurry up, he's been waiting for ages already."

"Who am I meeting?" asked Germany.

"Bismarck," Prussia replied.

Germany stopped in his tracks. "You mean, _Otto von Bismarck_?"

"Well, I don't know of any other Bismarcks you would be meeting, Germany," he said, giving him a look like he was a simpleton.

"But-but," Germany stammered. "I've been traveling! I look like a mess," he protested.

Prussia gave a derisive snort. "What, are you a girl or something? Honestly, I can't believe I let the aristocrat really rub off on you that much. Now, come on." He grabbed Germany's arm and dragged him into the house. Germany tried to straighten out his too-small clothes as they went, and he smoothed his hair back as best he could. After all, he was being dragged off to meet one of the most powerful men in Europe. And this was a man with a formidable reputation.

Seeing his discomfort, Prussia slowed down and said, "Don't be nervous, kid. You're a nation. Have a little pride."

Germany looked down at the floor. "I'm not a nation," he said.

Prussia grinned. "Not yet. We aim to change that," he said.

"How?"

"You'll see." They paused before a solid, oak door. Prussia knocked. After a few moments, a servant let them in and bade them wait in the antechamber, so both took a seat.

"You got taller," Prussia said. Germany blinked at the observation that seemed to come out of nowhere, but he nodded.

"I've been informed that that sort of thing tends to happen as one gets older," Germany replied. Prussia smiled at him. Only it wasn't his usual wolfish grin, but the sort of expression that made Germany think Prussia knew something that he didn't. He found that rather annoying.

However, before he could press the issue, the door to the next room opened, and the two of them were told to enter. They stood up, Germany's heart hammering against his chest, his stomach twisting in knots.

"It's okay, Germany," Prussia said. "You'll be fine."

Germany nodded and willed his feet to step forward.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Notes<em>**

More History!

These next two chapters were actually supposed to a single chapter, but it got too long, so I split them. These chapter basically deal with the three wars that are also known as the Wars of German Unification. The first two are mentioned in this chapter.

- The Second Schleswig War- Basically, in 1863, the King of Denmark declared that the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein were a part of Denmark, rather than separate entities, and in Holstein's case, part of the German Confederation. Neither the people of Schleswig-Holstein, nor the German Confederation (which saw this move as a violation of a treaty they had with Denmark) were very happy about this. When the German Confederation's attempts at a diplomatic solution failed, Prussian and Austrian troops crossed the border into Schleswig-Holstein and seized control of the region. This was also the last victorious war in the Austrian Empire's history.  
>-Please note that this is a very simplified version of what happened. There was also a dispute over succession in Denmark and a constitutional crisis, but explaining all that would make the Author's Notes longer than the actual story. But, if you are interested, google it ;)<p>

- Austro-Prussian War- Again, pretty complicated and will be simplified here. Right after the Second Schleswig war, Austria and Prussia were in disagreement regarding the administration of Schleswig-Holstein. One thing led to another, and the diplomatic situation became so bad that Austria declared war on Prussia (sorry, took some creative liberties with this in the story. But it was Otto von Bismarck, Prussia's Prime Minister, who basically orchestrated most of the conflict leading to the war, so I maintain that my version has validity. Besides, it's Hetalia). And Prussia also made a secret alliance with Italy against Austria. The main results of the war were a shift towards Prussian hegemony over Germany, the end of the German Confederation, and the creation of the North German Confederation, which excluded Austria and many of the Souther German states. Italy also unified, after this war.

Tune in next time for the final war of German Unification. Special guest appearance from everyone's favorite wine-sipping, cheese-eating, pervert ;)


	4. Empire Part 2

_(August 1870)_

Prussia stood on a hill, trying to ignore the oppressive summer heat. Before him was his army's camp; tents and cook fires and men all spread out before a single city. Canon fire sounded intermittently, and there were always little skirmishes, but things were relatively quiet now. Even he was grateful for this little respite. Their war in France had been moving quickly, certainly quicker than he had expected. While he'd had some trouble at the beginning, their forces had picked up speed and were now devastating the French. The poor fools' armies were divided now, too, and nearly half their forces were besieged here, by his forces to the East, and Germany's to the West.

"_I don't understand," Germany said. "Why are we going to war with France? His boss may have slighted us, but that hardly seems like a reason for war."_

"_It's just a pretext," Prussia said. _

"_Well, obviously, but to what end?" he said. "Why fight a war we do not need?"_

"_Unification," Prussia said._

_Germany fidgeted uncomfortably. "But can that not be accomplished peacefully?"_

_Prussia shrugged. "Sure, but that would take decades. You've seen the states, Germany, they couldn't agree on what to order for breakfast much less how to unite a country. But if their's one thing everyone can agree on," he said. "It's who their enemies are. And nothing brings people together faster than a common enemy."_

"_I-I know that," Germany replied. Then he said, "I've never really fought in a war before."_

"_I know, kid," Prussia said. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "If you aren't ready, I can handle this one."_

"_No," Germany said, firmly. "This is my fight. If I can't see it through, then I don't deserve to become a nation."_

_Prussia smiled, and he felt a little pride welling up in his chest. "Good. I'll be with you all the way."_

_Germany turned to face him. "Thank you," he said. God, he still seemed so young, Prussia thought. Anyone else who saw him wouldn't have thought him over 18. Though, for some reason, Prussia couldn't seem to get the image of a small child out of his head, even if he now had to look up to meet his brother's eyes. Part of him hated the idea of sending Germany to war. Prussia still wanted to shield him from the brutality and horror and death that came with it. But he also knew that wars were a part of their existence and Germany couldn't be shielded from that reality forever. One day, he would have his baptism by fire._

"_We should go and meet with the generals," Germany said. Prussia nodded. He knew from experience that military men did not like to be kept waiting._

And now here they were, in the midst of the conflict. Germany had seen his first battle, seen men killed. Prussia had been there, watched Germany process it, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. And then they had put on a brave face and carried on.

Prussia saw the sun beginning to set, and he decided it would be best if he wandered back to camp. His generals didn't like it when he went missing for too long. When he made it to the command tent at last he saw that the place had not lost its usual bustle of activity, with officers and aides constantly moving in and out. Someone always had a report to give, or a message to deliver. The guards, who had been quick to commit his rather distinctive appearance to memory, waved Prussia into the tent. Inside there was a large map on a central table topped by several figurines indicating German and French positions. Right now, they were mostly concentrated around Metz, the city they currently had the pleasure of besieging. However, figurines also marked French forces in Châlons, under the command of the Comte de MacMahon.

Currently, his generals were arguing over how best to secure Metz. They did not doubt that the French would surrender eventually, considering their enormous disadvantage in the situation, but time was important here. And there was always the possibility that other French forces would be deployed to relieve the city. Honestly, Prussia only half listened to them as they talked. He was not one for coming up with strategies. Action was more his forte, so he elected to stare off into space and let the generals beat their chests and say their pieces before finally coming up with something useful.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a messenger running in. Not unusual, but a quick word from one of the officers silenced the tent so that they could all here what he had to say.

"Sirs," the flustered, out of breathe soldier said. "A report from the Western army. MacMahon's forces have moved to relieve Metz."

That caused a small uproar before someone said, "Well, clearly we must prepare to meet them."

"Well, sirs," the messenger said. "Forces from the West are already preparing to do just that."

Prussia's heart fell into his stomach. That meant that Germany was about to face a massive French force, alone. Immediately, he wanted to order the rest of his army to mobilize, and back up the other half. Dammit, he wanted to help his brother.

But he knew he couldn't. Their army needed to keep up the pressure on Metz. That meant that he was stuck here. And it took every ounce of discipline he had not to start cursing and punching whatever was nearest to him.

...

It was getting dark. Night hadn't completely fallen yet, but the sun was certainly well on its way along its downward descent. Germany hoped that would allow them to hide better. They were out numbered, but taking the French forces by surprise would give them a great advantage. He glanced to his right, then to his left, and saw his own soldiers flanking him. Despite his best efforts, guilt started to well up inside him until he became nauseous with it. These men were fighting for him, _because _of him. If they died, it would be his fault. Desperately, he tried to force those thoughts away. He needed to be strong now. For their sakes, any hesitation in his resolve was unacceptable.

The man next to him (who looked young enough to still be a considered a boy) started shaking. His breathing was shallow, and his face had lost all his color. He was clearly terrified. Germany felt that he needed to do something. This was his man, after all, but he had no idea what would be appropriate. And there was also the fact that he was just as afraid of the impending battle.

No, he needed to be strong now. This was his chance to earn his nationhood. No one was going to give it to him, and he had to prove himself worthy of it. So he reached out and put his hand on the quivering man's soldier. He gave a small, surprised sound and then looked up at Germany with wide, brown eyes.

"Stand firm, soldier," he said, in the steadiest voice he could manage. For a moment, he wasn't sure he had helped at all, but then the soldier nodded and he stopped shaking. Germany gave a small sigh of relief. But then, they heard footsteps marching towards them.

The French had finally arrived. He prayed that they did not know about the German forces; prayed that their plan would succeed. It had to succeed. They could not let the two French armies combine their strength again. He took a few deep breaths, and waited for the order to fire.

After the order came, everything became a blur. The sound of hundreds of shots going off all around nearly deafened him, and then he wished it actually had once he heard the terrible cries of horses and men filling the air. He could barely see through the smoke, but there were flashes of rifle fire in the haze. He heard the order to advance. His limbs seemed to move with the command almost without his will to guide them. Then they fired again. Germany could not see if he had hit anything. He heard a grunt of pain, and a soldier two men to his left collapsed. More men fell in a volley of gunfire, and Germany felt rage boil up inside his chest. Rage for his fallen men, rage at the French for killing them, rage at himself for making this necessary. When the order came to charge, he burst forward with every ounce of strength he had, lungs burning from the smoke and his own furious battle cry. While he could see very little, instinct told him that they were winning. He could almost feel his own forces driving the French back, making them crumble. He wished he could have taken more pleasure in it.

Later, it seemed like the battle only took an instant. At the time, though, it seemed like years. Years of hearing wounded and dying men, seeing blood and corpses littering the battlefield, feeling the recoil of his rifle beat against his shoulder. His unit stayed together, like a single entity. When they lost a man, they kept going, driving into the enemy forces until they felt all opposition dissolve before them. Finally, it was obvious that the French were in retreat, and they were given the order to halt. A rousing cry went through the ranks of the victors, but Germany did not join them. Instead, he left in an attempt to find his commanders.

They were not hard to find, once some of the smoke cleared. They were towards the rear, sitting on horseback, in their distinguishing officer's uniforms.

"What is our plan, now?" he asked as he approached them. Evidently they had been discussing just that.

"MacMahon is on the run," one said. "I say we give chase."

"We cannot risk the siege," another protested.

"Indeed," yet another said in agreement.

"I say we pursue the French forces," Germany said, his voice ringing with an authority that even he did not recognize. He saw that his officers had not expected it either. So he pressed his advantage. "If we can catch and defeat MacMahon's forces, it will be the decisive stroke in this war. We can end it," he said. "And this is our best opportunity."

Surprisingly, at least to him, his word seemed to hold sway with them. While they continued to argue all the way to their makeshift command post, they were able to determine that MacMahon was likely to retreat to Sedan. They could most certainly catch up to him, and with the French army in retreat, they had a good chance of beating them.

So, after word was sent to their other forces, Germany and the rest moved out, in pursuit of MacMahon. When morning came on the second day of pursuit, the last day of August, they received a reply from the other camp, clutched in the beak of a little yellow bird. It was universally recognized as his brother's. Germany had no idea why Prussia had kept that little chick all these years, but he had never actually managed to ask him about it.

Most of the reply was simply confirmation and details from the other commanders, but there was also short note written to Germany. When he opened it, he was not surprised to find Prussia's handwriting.

_Hey West,_ it said. Prussia had never called him that before, but Germany found he didn't mind the new nickname. He continued to read. "_I just wanted you to know that if you die in this battle, I swear I will kill you. No, that is not a joke. I would find a way. Because I am that awesome. Anyway, I would give you some really wise pre-battle advice, but all you really need to remember at this point is which end of the gun to aim at the enemy, and I think that's something even you can manage. Other than that, you have it covered._

_So, go out and give 'em hell, little brother!_"

Germany smiled at the letter, and said softly, to himself, "I'll do that," before tucking the note away into his pocket.

…..

Sure enough, morning came on the first day of September, and the sun rose on the carnage of battle before the city of Sedan. This time, rather than standing in the ranks, Germany rode on horseback throughout the scene of battle, giving orders and shouting encouragements to his weary troops. But it looked as if they had a distinct advantage. The French were pinned down in the city, and Germany knew that their commander had been severely wounded. But he refused to allow himself to become overly confident. The battle was not yet won.

But as the day wore on, the tide seemed to turn more and more in their favor. His forces pressed forward, winning skirmish after skirmish and making the French position increasingly hopeless. Around midday, it seemed that there was a lull in the fighting, now. The wounded were being carried away, some on stretchers, others in the arms of their comrades. The dead were covered up, for the time being.

Afternoon turned to evening, and luckily it started to cool down a little as well. Germany didn't like the heat. It was suffocating enough with the blasting of rifles and canons without nature lending her hand.

Suddenly, Germany saw a figure a little ways away. He was also mounted, but Germany could not see his uniform from where he stood. Cautiously, he urged his mount forward, to get a closer look, and the other rode up to meet him. As they approached one another, it became increasingly obvious that the stranger's uniform was not German.

Germany doubled over, gasping, as he suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Dammit, the French were attacking again. And he had not been ready for it. He only hoped that his soldiers would be. As he fought to bring back the air that had been driven from his lungs, he finally saw the rider clearly. His blonde hair had been drawn back into a ponytail, but there were several pieces that had escaped and hung across his face. His clothes had been rumpled and singed in a few places, but he still wore a slightly cocky grin.

France gave him a slight, mocking bow. "_Allemagne_" he said in greeting.

Germany felt all the anger he had been trying to contain bubbling back up again. France had also started this war. France had killed his people, and the arrogant bastard stood there before him _smiling_. Germany no longer had a rifle, but he still had a cavalry saber at his belt, which he drew now. France mirrored the action.

"_En garde!_" he called. Germany charged forward, raising his sword. When he met France, the other nation clearly had not been expecting such a ferocious first attack. His first parry was too weak, but he managed to avoid the rest of the cut enough so that no blood was drawn. Their swords clashed again, both still on horseback. France was clearly the more experienced of the two, and Germany was quickly losing any advantage he had managed to gain from his first assault. But he refused to give in.

After a few more blows, both combatants stepped back, circling the other. "So this is Prussia's upstart?" France said, his tone taunting. "I was expecting more."

Germany said nothing in response. His forces were winning. France was only trying to goad him.

"A quiet one then?" France continued. "Or simply too shy?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Germany said in a low voice.

"Ah, so you can speak," said France. "So why not-"

Germany cut him off with another charge and a swing of his sword. France, caught off guard, reeled back from the blow, barely managing to keep his seat. But metal clashed again as France was able to bring his sword up to parry the blow.

"And rude too? You really are one of Prussia's." He riposted, and Germany met it with his own blade. "War is no place for children," France said. "I suggest you return to hiding behind your brother's coattails. I think you'll find it suits you better."

"Shut up!" he yelled as he attacked again. France was ready, and none of Germany's blows came close to finding a mark. He realized, though, that he was off balance now. Dammit, France had gotten to him. He had attacked too aggressively. But, if he could regain his balance…or maybe France thought he was worse off then he was? Then this should work, he thought. He feinted wide, making it look as if he had lost control of his attack. France's blade made as if to follow his, but Germany knew that it would instead target him not his sword. France began to move out of his feint, but Germany moved faster than he expected. Germany thrust his sword. France wasn't fast enough to stop him.

He grimaced and cried out as the tip of Germany's saber bit into his flesh, low on his right side. Blood began to flow from the wound, creating a red blossom on his uniform, but a murderous rage filled France's eyes, even as he clutched his side, trying to slow the bleeding. He brought his sword back up into a ready position. This arrogant _child_ was not going to beat him so easily. Germany's blade rose to meet his. He was only too happy to finish off this French bastard.

Until he felt something akin to a blacksmith's hammer strike hit him and pain erupt from his shoulder. He bit back a scream, and somehow managed to calm his panicked mount. France was still bleeding, and Germany could barely see straight, but neither combatant had any intention of backing down. There had been too much resentment sown on either side for them to stop now.

But before both battered nations could advance again, something in the distance caught their attention, simultaneously. They looked towards Sedan, and over the city a while flag blew in the breeze.

"Dammit," France swore under his breath. Then he turned to Germany. "I suppose this will have to wait," he said before riding back towards the city. Germany wanted to chase after him, but the pain in his shoulder held him back. Besides, there was no honor in pursuing a beaten enemy. He had France's surrender. That would have to be enough.

He sheathed his sword and began riding back to his headquarters. He clutched tightly to his shoulder, hot, sticky blood flowing freely over his hand and uniform. He found that he had little movement in his arm. This would have to be treated, he thought. Then he began chuckling. Prussia would be furious with him if he came back without an arm.

When he reached camp, he was immediately helped from his horse and rushed to the medics. One doctor looked him over, and determined that the bullet would have to be removed and the arm set back into its socket. They shoved a flask in his mouth and had him swallow fiery liquid, probably some kind of alcohol. It was as close to anesthetic one could obtain on the battlefield. While he supposed it was helping, the operation was by no means painless. In fact, it was one of the most agonizing experiences of his life. Having a doctor dig around in the flesh of one's shattered shoulder for small pieces of metal was (understandably, he thought) a fairly unpleasant experience. It lasted for hours, until his throat was too hoarse to even give a respectable scream anymore. Yet each moment of agony was one he would never have traded for anything in the world.

It was painful, yes, but it was a different kind of pain. This was pain he could face; something he could stand up to. As a child, he had constantly felt overwhelmed by his own suffering. It was a sickness he knew no one could fight, and that had been where the worst of his torment had come from. But this was a wound sustained in battle. A battle he had _won_. And facing this agony was proof that he was no longer helpless, no longer a child, no longer afraid. When he screamed, it was equal parts pain and defiance.

He assumed that he had passed out at some point, because when he woke up, there was a clean, white bandage on his shoulder, and he felt only a dull throb instead of absolute torture. He sat up slightly and found that he was lying on a cot in the infirmary. It was very busy. He wanted to ask what had become of the battle, the French surrender, their own casualties, but he found that he was very tired, now. Well, that should not come as a surprise. He had been shot after all. And besides, all that would keep until he had given himself a chance to rest.

He was informed later that when Sedan had fallen, they managed to capture the French Emperor Napoleon III, along with 83,000 troops. Germany marched on Paris, then to put the city under siege. Not long after that, Metz fell, and Prussia's force was able to rejoin him. Of course, Prussia had insisted on seeing the "well earned battle scars" as he liked to call it. Germany sighed. The wound was mostly healed now, though his shoulder was still somewhat stiff. There was a pale scar, although it was not nearly as impressive as Germany had thought it would be.

Nevertheless, Prussia seemed to approve. "Not bad," he said when he saw it. "Better than my first, anyway."

"What was your first?" Germany asked.

Prussia shifted uncomfortable. "You don't want to know," he said. And that was all the discussion he allowed on the subject.

...

Fall turned to winter as they sat outside Paris. Germany did have to admit; the people here were fierce fighters. Even though they had resorted to using improvised weapons, like kitchen and farm equipment, it took months for the Parisian's resolve to even show signs of a crack. But however much he admired them, there was only one possible outcome. Eventually, they would have to surrender.

It was only a day before negotiations for that surrender began that Germany stood in the Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles. It was a beautiful place. One of the most beautiful he had ever seen. Of course, a run down barn would have seemed like the most beautiful place in the world to him at this moment. This was what he had fought for, watched men die for. At that moment he stood beside Wilhelm I, currently kneeling as the King of Prussia. When he rose, however, he would be Emperor of Germany. A united Germany, a single empire, no longer a weak confederation.

Prussia was beside him, grinning brighter and wider than Germany had ever seen. He wanted to smile too, but he thought he had better appear more disciplined. This was a serious occasion, after all. The ceremony was a long one, and Germany had to stand for all of it, but, frankly, he did not care. He was much too elated to notice the growing soreness in his legs or stiffness in his knees. Actually, the discomfort was quite welcome. It proved that he was no dreaming.

But the ceremony could not last forever. Wilhelm rose, resplendent in his rich clothing, jewels, and crown and scepter. He left the room, and the other guests followed. Germany and Prussia were left alone.

Prussia let out a loud, boisterous laugh. Germany's mask cracked at that, and even he had to smile. Prussia continued to laugh until he doubled over and fell to the floor.

"Prussia," Germany said, kneeling down. "Are you alright?"

"So much better than alright, West," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "God, we waited so long for this."

"Yes," Germany said, sitting beside him. "I can hardly believe it."

"Oh, hang on a second," Prussia said, searching though his pockets. "Dammit, where is…Oh, there it is," he said triumphantly. "Here," he said. "I've been meaning to give this to you."

In his hand, he held a silver medal in the shape of a cross. Germany gasped as he recognized it.

"This…this is the Iron Cross," he said.

"Brilliant observation," Prussia teased.

"Can you just give this to me?"

"Of course. I mean, whose going to argue with their own country getting a military honor? One that was well earned, I might add."

"I…thank you," Germany said.

"Don't mention it. Like I said, you earned it." Prussia leaned forward and pinned the cross near Germany's throat. "Looks pretty good," he said.

Germany touched the metal, still warm from sitting in his brother's pocket. "Things will be different from now on, won't they?"

"Probably," Prussia said.

"I'm not sure I can do it."

"Then you're an idiot."

"What if I do something wrong?"

"Then we'll pick up the pieces. The world will keep going."

"What about you?" Germany asked.

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"I mean, will you be answerable to me now?" he asked nervously. "Like a state?"

"I guess so. Pretty weird, isn't it," he replied with a grin. Seeing the concern on Germany's face, though, he added, "Don't worry about it. I can't stand politics anyway. I'll be glad to foist it all on you."

"Alright," Germany said.

"Remember, kid, I wasn't meant to be a statesman," he said. "I'm a soldier, born and bred. But not you."

Germany looked down and the military uniform he was wearing and gave Prussia a puzzled expression.

Prussia only chuckled and shook his head. "Weren't you paying attention for the past hundred thousand hours, West?" he asked. "Germany, you're an Empire."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Notes<em>**

Hooray! Germany is a country now! History lesson time!

The Franco-Prussian War- The final war fought for German unification. Essentially, both France and Germany knew they were going to fight a war, they just needed and excuse. That came when Spain offered the throne to Leopold, Prince of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen (try saying that five times fast). Now, the Hohenzollerns were a Prussian dynastic family, and France did not like the idea of a Spanish-Prussian alliance, and Otto von Bismarck knew this, so he persuaded Leoplod to accept the throne in order to provoke war with France. France complained to to King Wilhelm I, who was much less enthusiastic about a war, so he put a stop to the whole thing. It seemed all hope for war was lost, until the French Emperor Napoleon III insisted that Wilhelm I apologize to him, and make sure any possible claims from the Hohenzollerns on Spain were renounced. Wilhelm was not thrilled, and gave Bismarck permission to publish the French demands, as well as the Prussian rejection. Bismarck edited them before releasing them to the public, in such a way as to anger both the French and German people, and six days later, France declared war. The war lasted from July of 1870 to January of 1871, and it did indeed result in the capture of the French Emperor (whoops) which led to France declaring itself a republic, but that's another story.

Then, on January 18, 1871, in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, King Wilhelm I was crowned Emperor of Germany, an event which represented the culmination of the efforts to unite Germany.

Thanks all again for reading :) Reviews are loved. And Europe might want to watch out when these next chapters come. Our next date comes between 1914 and 1918, and we all know what happened then (at least I hope we do...)


	5. Fallen

_(October 1918)_

Prussia gasped for breath as he dragged himself along the floor of a filthy trench, leaving a trail of his own blood behind him. The smell of poison gases still hung heavy in the air, while he slowly passed the corpses of vermin and men alike.

He hadn't been ready for this. He wasn't ashamed to admit that. No one had been ready for this. He remembered the first time he had seen and smelled the poisoned gases spilling over towards his unit. Men all around him, gagging, gasping, and dying, and all he could do was watch. It had infuriated him. But nothing could infuriate him more than the fact that he had been expected to use those same deadly toxins on other soldiers himself.

They had fought so hard. Prussia didn't think he had ever fought harder in his life for anything. And the worst part was, he didn't know if they had really been fighting for anything.

"I'll kill that bastard when I get outta here," he muttered to himself, although it was painful to speak. But for Austria, he would spare a few words. Damn moron had dragged them all into this goddamn war. And now they were losing. Badly.

God, he thought. What would happen to Germany if they lost? The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but never so vividly as it was now. Now that it was clear that Prussia had lost his front; that he had failed. Damn, he hated losing.

"And now I'm gonna just die in a pit? In _France_?" he scoffed. "Screw that." He tried to pull himself upright, to see over the trench, get some idea of what was happening, but he fell back to the ground when the wound in his belly refused to allow him much movement as he had to hold it shut with his hand. He rolled over onto his back and just stared at the sky, totally exhausted. The gases were still clouding his head, so his vision blurred and blinked in and out, or maybe that was just because he was losing blood. And his head felt like someone had split it open with a pickaxe.

"Not gonna end here," he said aloud to no one. "Not gonna end here."

He felt so tired, though. And the light was staring to hurt his eyes, in spite of the fact that the sun was hidden behind a thick veil of gray clouds. But it was still too bright. There were sounds off in the distance, but they seemed of such little consequence to him. After all, they were far away, and he couldn't reach them. He couldn't even move anymore. Maybe if he closed his eyes and rested for a little while…

"_Prussia!_"

"Huh?"

"_Prussia!_"

"If that's the goddamn 'choir invisible'," he said. "You better buzz off."

"Oh God," he heard someone say as footsteps started drawing nearer. He tried to sit up to see who it was, but he found that he body was uncooperative. Finally, though he saw a shadow, and then someone standing over him.

"Oh, hey West," he said once he figured out who it was. "Am I hallucinating?"

"No," Germany said. "No, I'm here."

"Figured," Prussia grunted. "If I was hallucinating it would have been a girl, and she would have been a hell of a lot prettier than you."

He couldn't see it, but he could tell that Germany was rolling his eyes. "Just hold on," he said. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"Great, this place sucks," Prussia replied.

"You shouldn't speak," Germany admonished. "Let me look at your wound."

"I ain't stopping you," Prussia said, although he knew he should probably keep silent. Speaking was still painful.

He gave a shuddering cough, and the bitter, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Prussia spat it out, and groaned, while Germany worked to stop the bleeding from the wound in his belly. Shrapnel had torn into him when a shell went off, though he counted himself lucky that he hadn't been any closer to the explosion. He wondered if anyone else from his unit was alive, and then he wondered when his head would stop hurting. God, he was so tired…

"Prussia!" Germany said, shaking him slightly.

Prussia grunted in response.

"We have to go, now," Germany said. "Lean on me, I'll help you walk."

"Don't need your help," Prussia mumbled, but he still let West haul him to his feet. The sudden rush of blood from his head nearly made him pass out, but he managed to stay conscious as he took a few shaky steps forward. Germany slung his arm around his shoulder, and wrapped a supportive arm around his waist while they walked along the trench.

Prussia tried to move his legs, but it felt like someone had filled them with water in place of muscle and bone. He stumbled more than once, while Germany struggled to keep them both on their feet.

"It's alright," Germany said. "We don't have far to go."

Prussia only grunted again. He didn't understand what the hurry was. After all, he would be much better able to walk once he had some rest. But when he tried to say so, Germany shook his head and insisted that they keep going. Prussia scowled, but his eyelids were growing so heavy. If he only slept for a moment…

"Brother!" Germany said, shaking him slightly.

"What?" Prussia groaned.

"Please, you need to stay awake, just a little longer."

"Why?" he asked groggily.

"Your head is injured," Germany said. "So you have to stay awake."

Oh, yes that made sense, Prussia thought. If he passed out with a concussion, he might fall into a coma. And that would be pretty unawesome of him.

"'kay, I'll try," he muttered.

"Keep talking to me," Germany said.

"Oh, now you want me to talk?" Prussia replied. "Make up your mind."

"Just say anything," said Germany. "I can't imagine rambling has suddenly become difficult for you."

"Heh. I dunno." He thought for a minute before asking, "Weren't you supposed to be fighting in Italy?"

"I returned to Berlin some time ago," Germany said.

"Right. So, how was it?" Prussia asked, smirking.

"It was…not what I was expecting," Germany answered.

Prussia gave a small laugh, though pain cut it off.

"And you knew all along," Germany said; it was a statement not a question. "You knew exactly the type of 'fight' I was getting into, and you neglected to mention it."

"Well, duh," Prussia replied. "I mean, come on, your reaction when you actually found those two must have been priceless."

Germany only glared down at him.

"Cute kid, Veneziano," Prussia mused. "Romano's a bit of a handful, though."

"I did not encounter South Italy," Germany told him.

"Count yourself lucky."

"I see."

Prussia sighed. "God," he said. "I remember when it was me carrying you around."

"I remember too."

"But then you got taller."

"Yes."

"That was lousy of you."

"It was not exactly something I could prevent."

"Humph. Lame excuse," he mumbled, though he could barely hear his own words now. He felt like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears and throat. Why was it so important that he stay awake again?

Germany shook his arm slightly to stir him. "Prussia, please, hold on just a little longer," he said, almost pleading now.

"'m fine," he muttered. He couldn't tell if he was moving his legs anymore, or if Germany was just dragging him. He lifted his head, slightly, to attempt to get some idea of their bearings. They were still in a trench, but farther from the noises of battle. They weren't on the front lines anymore. That made Prussia a little angry, being dragged away from the fight like this. He knew that he had lost, but this was just salt in the wound. Which made him start to wonder just how bad things were for them.

"So," Prussia began. "How much longer we gonna hold out?"

Germany didn't answer right away. Prussia knew it was a bit of a loaded question, but he still wanted to know. He had spent most of the war on the front lines, so his information was limited. "Not long," Germany finally answered. "They say the navy has plans to mutiny-"

"Bastards," Prussia interjected.

"-and Ludendorff resigned."

"Heard about that one," said Prussia.

"Yes. Things look bad."

"Well, guess you can't win 'em all, right West?"

Again, he didn't respond.

* * *

><p><em>(March 1938)<em>

Germany walked home through the streets of Berlin to his house, just outside the city. He could have taken a car, he found that today he needed the time to think. Exercise always helped him clear his head.

_He was horrified when he saw his written order one of his boss' man had given him. Usually when he boss couldn't even say the orders aloud they were unpleasant, but how could he expect Germany to do this?_

_ "I- I refuse" he said._

_ "You can't refuse. This is an order from your superior."_

_ Germany froze. There was no way he could do this to Austria. Annex him, and take away his freedom? Austria had helped raise him, for God's sake. He was alive now in part thanks to him. But he couldn't refuse the command. He needed to maintain the order that had been created, at long last after the disaster that was their last war. After that war, well, frankly he hadn't believed it was possible for even him to sink so low. Yes working for France was humiliating enough, but the worst part had been what he had been forced to watch his people endure. They had starved, their money had no value, they were allowed no pride. And it was all his fault._

_ But things were getting better now. Surely they were. They were ready to fight a war that would restore their place in the world. That… that was worth any sacrifice, even those already made and even this one. Germany believed that. He had to believe that. Didn't he?_

_ But if he believed that this new regime was necessary to help his people, why did he hesitate now? _

_ "No," he heard himself say. "I won't do it."_

_ "I see," the other man said in a low voice. His expression darkened as he looked over his round spectacles. Though he wouldn't let it show on his face, Germany felt a nagging fear begin to gnaw at him. He knew this man, the man who had almost unlimited power to root our and stop threats to his boss and the regime. Somehow, Germany thought that should have made him feel safe with him, but he found that there was no other human being he had ever felt more threatened by. _

_ He stepped forward, towards Germany, drawing his gun from the holster at his hip. _

Germany shuddered at that memory. For a moment, he had been sure was about to be shot. But he hadn't moved. He couldn't have. He hadn't been dismissed.

_The blow to his head had been a surprise, and he had fallen, dazed. _

_"Weak! Pathetic! Insubordinate!" At least that was all Germany could hear clearly through the ringing in his head and the pain in his ribs where he had been kicked after he fell. He felt sick again._

_ "That's enough," he heard someone say._

_ His heart leaped up into his throat when he saw his boss standing before them. He dismissed his subordinate and knelt down to look Germany in the eye._

_ "Why did you refuse my order?" he asked, gently._

_ "I- I," Germany stammered. For some reason his tongue wouldn't work._

_ "Germany," his boss said. "I am trying to help you. You know that don't you?"_

_ He nodded in response._

_ "Good," his boss continued. "You know that you need my help? I need to know that you understand that. Because I couldn't stand to see you fall again. Couldn't stand to see my people starving in the streets."_

_ "I understand."_

_ "I'm glad," he said as he helped Germany to his feet. "You have come so far from the weak child I found when I first met you. I know it is difficult, but you must trust me. I am the only one who can stop that from happening again. Do you understand?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Then will you carry out my orders?"_

_ "Yes."_

It couldn't be right, could it? For his boss' man to hit him like that? Then again, perhaps he had needed it. He needed the lesson. After all, before his boss had come along he had been barely more than nothing. A workhorse for France. His boss had saved him, was continuing to save him. Saving him from being weak, from being afraid, from being the way he had been as a child.

I will never go back to that, he thought. Never go back to being sick, or scared, unable to decide my own fate.

But wasn't he scared now? Being controlled? How was that any different?

It is different, he told himself firmly.

Anything must have been better than that damned "peace" he had been forced into. Losing territory and his colonies had been bad enough, but he could have handled that. What he could not stand was the blame. How could they put it all on him? He didn't deserve all the blame. Did he? Sometimes, it was hard for him to say.

Regardless, the sheer humiliation of all of it was more than he could stand, and it was not what his people deserved. They had wanted the fighting to stop too, but the desire for peace had been thrown in their faces. And that's why he had to trust his boss. His boss was going to help him restore his place in the world, bring back his people's pride. If all that cost was a few hard lessons, surely he could take it. Surely he should take it?

Then why was he so sure that something was very wrong?

Further thought on the subject was interrupted when he arrived at home. He found that the door was unlocked, which concerned him for a moment until he saw he brother lying on the couch, drinking out of a large stein.

"What are you doing here?" Germany asked, though he had a pretty good idea.

"I live here, don't I?" Prussia replied.

"I meant, what are you doing home this _early_?"

"Oh. Well, you know that last job I got?"

"You got fired again, didn't you?"

"Yep," Prussia said. "In my defense, my boss was gunning for me from the start."

Germany was too tired to go through this conversation yet again, so he simply sat down on an armchair and let himself sink into the soft cushions.

"Not like it really matters right?" Prussia said. "I mean, we're going to war again soon, right?" he asked.

Germany wasn't sure if he should answer. These were state secrets he would be divulging. But, then again, this was his brother. How could he not trust him?

"Yes," he replied after a time.

"Alright!" Prussia said, shooting up. "So that means I go to the front lines, right? No more dumb busywork?"

Germany's first thought was to say no, outright.

But then he had no idea why. Of course he remembered the last time he had seen brother in a war, lying in the dirt bleeding to death. Even after he had managed to get Prussia to a field hospital, it hadn't been a certainty that he would make it. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the only thing on his mind. After all, Prussia was a good soldier, and he would be best used on the battlefield. And that was where he wanted to be, so why did Germany want to refuse him?

Because he was scared? Because when he was afraid, his big brother had always come to help him? And if he went away, he would be alone?

"Hey, West?" Prussia said, rising and walking over to him. "What happened?" He pointed towards the bruise on Germany's temple.

This was his chance. Prussia was handing him the opportunity to find out if this was right or not. If he told him what happened, they could figure out what to do. His brother could tell him if this was wrong.

"I fell down some stairs," Germany said. "It's nothing."

Prussia sniggered. "Nice one, West. So what kind of battle plans have you worked out?" he asked eagerly.

And then the chance was gone. That was for the best, Germany thought. Prussia would never be objective in this situation. And this was his business anyway. Prussia would have enough on his mind soon anyway.

He couldn't tell him everything, but he did tell him a few details. Prussia seemed excited about the whole thing. Germany was less sure, after the horrors of the last war. But this is necessary, he told himself. It is necessary. It has to be…

* * *

><p><em>(April 1945)<em>

Prussia ran through the shattered streets as flashes of heat and sound accosted his senses. He had to shield his face as pieces of debris flew up and hit him, but still he kept running, and shouting.

"Germany!" he cried. "Dammit! Answer me!"

Another bomb drowned out his last cry. By now, the streets were deserted as people had either sought cover, or missed their chance for good. But still, his brother was nowhere to be found. Had he already found someplace to wait out the bombing? Why not come back to their shelter? He should not have been too far away.

Finally, Prussia saw a figure, kneeling amongst the rubble that had been the square where they had shopped for groceries, once.

"West!" he shouted, but no response came. "Come on! Get to a shelter, you idiot!" he cried, running towards his brother. The noise had subsided for a moment.

As he got closer, he saw that Germany's shoulders were shaking, and that he was…laughing? He was in the middle of the ruined square, laughing like a madman.

"West?" Prussia said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Germany started for a moment, and stopped laughing. "Brother?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you!" Prussia exclaimed. "Hurry up! Those bombers are gonna come back, and I am way too awesome to get blown up!"

But Germany didn't move. "It's over isn't it?" he said, softly. "Finally over?" He started grinning, and then began to laugh again.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Prussia tried to pull Germany to his feet, but to no avail. "If you don't move your ass, I am leaving you here! I swear to God, West!"

"He's gone, you know," West said.

"Who's gone?" Prussia questioned.

"He got me into this," Germany continued, like he hadn't heard. "Got us into this. He told me it was right, necessary. I shouldn't have listened, should I? But I was so tired of watching people starve. I couldn't pay. I never could have, but people were still dying. Although, I guess that didn't change, did it? Why did he leave? He told me I needed him. He _made_ me believe I needed him."

Prussia slapped him. "Snap out of it! You're gonna get us both killed!"

"I wanted to kill him myself, sometimes. But I couldn't. God, I was so weak. I am weak. He made sure I knew that. But then, why leave?"

"Germany, come ON!" This time, Prussia pulled harder, but then Germany suddenly pushed back, with a panicked look on his face.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, before sinking weakly to his knees again. "I'm trying, I'm trying. Please, no more."

Prussia looked, horrified, at the crumbled man before him. He had never seen anyone look so… defeated. He didn't want to believe that this was his brother; that something had caused this in him.

He kneeled down, trying to meet Germany's vacant eyes. "We have to go, West," he said. "Please, let's go somewhere safe."

Germany's eyes seemed to click into focus. "Safe?" he murmured.

"Yes." This time, Germany let his brother take him by the arm and lead him away. Prussia could still hear the bombs going off, and see the clouds of dust rising from the rest of the city, but they had some time before they were in immediate danger. Still, he quickened their pace as much as he could.

It seemed an eternity before they reached their shelter. It was already crowded, but they managed to find a corner to themselves. People seemed to instinctively avoid them, which was fine as far as Prussia was concerned. He helped Germany sit down, then fell beside him.

"Wish we had some beer," he said, trying to grin.

Germany didn't respond.

"West, we'll get through this," Prussia said.

"No, we won't."

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not? It's only the truth." Germany looked away. "I'll take whatever they have in store for me. I deserve it."

"What do you mean _you_ deserve it?" Prussia said. "I was just as much a part of this as you were."

Germany gave a joyless smile. "No, brother, you weren't. You fought in battles. You didn't see what I did." He drew his knees to his chest. "Oh God. I'm a monster."

"No-"

"I let my government murder my own people!" he yelled. No one around them seemed to notice. "I should have stopped it! I should have at least tried! But I didn't. I… Damn it, I was afraid! I should have…but…damn it!"

Prussia tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Germany shrugged him off. "West, talk to me. What happened?"

"I was so scared. I…I never said anything."

"About what?"

Instead of speaking, Germany started to unbutton his shirt. He let the fabric fall away from his shoulder, and his back, revealing a collage of purple and faded yellow bruises, intertwined with red marks and scars. Some were from battles. Some obviously weren't.

"They hurt you?"

Germany nodded.

"Bastards!" Prussia yelled, shooting to his feet. "I'll kill them myself!"

"Prussia, please," Germany said softly. "Sit down."

Although he didn't want to, Prussia complied, rage building in his chest. Why didn't he know? Why didn't West say anything to him?

"He—my boss never actually ever did it himself," Germany began. "It was always someone else. I got the worst of it from Himmler, actually. I guess that really isn't too surprising. But my boss…he always stopped them. And he told me that was why I needed him. I don't know how, but he knew. He knew how afraid I was. Of being weak again. Like I was when I was a child. I… he used that, mostly. Until I did anything he said. God, I wanted to stop so badly." He buried his face in his hands. "I hope they kill me."

"No. No you don't," Prussia said, though he was trying to reassure himself as much as West.

The brothers sat there in silence, listening to the bombs going off in the surface. Neither spoke. Neither could think of anything to say.

Until the booming stopped. Then Germany said, "I guess it's time."

"Yeah," Prussia said. "Let's go face the music."

* * *

><p><em>(June 1948)<em>

Germany sat in his room, staring blankly at the floor.

_"No! Please, you can't do this!"_

_ They were all there. France and England gave him dirty looks. America looked confused, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Russia just stood there, with his vacant smile. And his brother… Prussia stood beside Russia, the large nation's hand clamped over his shoulder. Prussia's wrists were handcuffed in front of him._

_ "West," he said. "It's okay."_

_ "No!" he cried again, but two soldiers held him back when he tried to run forward. That was when Russia had led his brother away._

_ "NO!"_

He was alone.

He looked at the bed, immaculately made, the corners of the sheets precise. Part of him half expected Italy's coppery head to pop out from underneath the covers, like it had used to. But no, that would never happen again.

_"Get out!" Italy shouted, his voice holding more anger than Germany had thought possible from his former ally. "Get away from us!"_

He was alone.

In some ways, this was worse than if the Allies had just killed him. At least then he wouldn't have the guilt clawing at his insides everyday. He had been expecting another Treaty of Versailles, but that did not seem to be the case either. They all seemed more preoccupied with other things. Dealing with Russia, rather than dealing with him, seemed to weigh much more heavily on all of their minds.

And now, Berlin was under siege, again. Again, it was Russia's doing. He seemed convinced that the entire city should belong to him, since it was in Russian controlled territory. He had already blockaded the city, preventing any supplies from coming in, and any people from coming out. His people were going to starve, again. And again, he was powerless to stop it.

There was a knock at the door, which startled him. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. Without really thinking, he walked to the door and opened it.

"Hello?" he said, force of habit driving him.

He met a pair of bright blue eyes, just a few inches below his own. "Hey, Germany," said a boisterous voice. "Mind if I talk to you for a sec?"

"America?" he said, "What are you doing here? Wait, _how _are you here?"

"It's called airlift," America said, grinning. Germany, still dumbstruck, opened the door and let him in. The other nation looked around the house. Most of it had been ruined in the bombings, but part still stood. There was still a kitchen, and an upstairs bedroom, and a parlor, where they now sat.

"What did you want to speak to me about?" Germany asked. Honestly, he had no idea what business America could have with him.

"Well, uh…hold on a sec," America said, hand rummaging through the pockets first on his pants, then his bomber jacket. "Ah-hah! There it is," he said triumphantly, drawing out a slightly crinkled envelope. He handed it to Germany.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A letter. Prussia asked me to give it to you."

Germany stared at him. "You are giving me a letter from my brother?" he said, voice laced with disbelief.

"Yeah. Don't tell the other Allies, though. They'd probably have my head if them found out," he said, grinning. "But, you know, I kind of owe Prussia one, since he helped me with my revolution and all. And," he said, his tone softer, "I don't know. It just didn't sit right with me. The way we just handed him over to Russia like that. I mean, I probably should have done something more about it, and I'm sorry. But he asked me to give you this, so I figured it might help a little bit."

Germany didn't really know what to say in response, so he simply opened the letter and began to read. It took him a moment to decipher his brother's messy handwriting. But he took some comfort in the fact that it was undoubtedly his.

_"Hey West,_

_So, if you're reading this, I guess Russia got his way. France gave me a heads up about what was going on, with Russia taking control of half the country. Not sure he meant to, but whatever. Point is, if I have to go with Russia, just know that I want it that way. Maybe it will satisfy him long enough to buy you some time to recover. Bastard has his sights set on all of Europe, and guess who's in the front of the line?_

_But, if anyone can stand up to him, I know it's you. You've always been tough, West, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And I am awesome, so I would know. You just need a little time to pull yourself together. If I can give that to you, well, maybe it will make up for before. Now you better frame this next part, because I am not repeating it. Ever. Okay, here it goes: I messed up. I should have seen that you were hurting, during the war. Maybe even before that, I guess. I was so obsessed with making sure you were safe from the rest of the world, I didn't pay attention to what was going on right under my nose. I'm sorry. I tried to protect you, and I failed._

_But that won't happen again. I've got another shot now, and I'm taking it. So don't get all emotional and stuff. And take care of yourself while I'm gone. The house had better be fixed when I come back, by the way. And I am coming back. It might be a while, but I know you could never last without my awesomeness around._

_Anyway, I guess I'm done. So, yeah. See you 'round, little brother,_

_Prussia"_

The weight of his brother's words hit him like a fist to the gut. Germany started fingering the cross-shaped medal at his throat. Prussia had given it to him. After his first war. After he had become a nation. God, that seemed so long ago. Germany wanted so badly to respond to the words in the letter; to tell Prussia that it wasn't his fault, and that he had nothing to apologize for. He wanted to say that without him…without him Germany didn't think he would have made it even this far. But Prussia wasn't there. So his words went unsaid. Instead, he looked at America, and simply said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," America replied. "So, how've you been? No, wait, stupid question," he said when Germany raised an eyebrow at him. "I saw what happened to your house, outside."

"Yes, the damage was extensive," he replied, stiffly.

"I could help you fix it."

"What?"

"Sure," America said, smile returning in full force. "I mean, my boss said we should help Europe rebuild, so I figure that means helping you too, right?"

"I…don't know what to say."

"A 'yes' would be a good start."

Germany was truly dumbfounded. Was America actually offering to help him rebuild? How could he do that? After such a terrible war that he was responsible for. The other Allies seemed to want to make sure he never had a military or industry again. Could America actually want to help him?

America checked his watch. "Hold on a minute," he said. "I've got another surprise."

"America, what are you talking about?" Germany asked.

"Just wait," he replied, grinning from ear to ear, like a child at Christmas. "Come on, let's go outside." He shot up off of his chair, and dragged Germany out the door with him. They stood in the yard, America's eyes trained up at the sky. Germany followed suit. For a while nothing happened. Then he heard the engines of planes drawing nearer. For a moment, he flinched, memories of bombs and fire flooding through his head, but there was no booming sound or rumble of the earth. Instead, he saw the sky fill with little parachutes, floating to the ground.

When one got close enough, America grabbed at it. "Check it out!" he exclaimed, showing Germany what was in his hand. It was… a chocolate bar?

"What's going on?" Germany asked.

America grabbed another bar from the air and shoved it in Germany's hand. "Well," he said, taking a bite of his own chocolate, "you know Russia's trying to take all of Berlin. Well, me and the other Allies thought that kind of sucked, so my government decided it would be awesomely heroic to airlift supplies into the city! That's what all those planes are," he said, pointing up. "Britain has planes up there with mine, and even New Zealand and Australia are helping. How wild is that?" Then he added, "The chocolate bars on parachutes were my idea. Pretty cool, huh?"

"America," Germany said. "I…I don't know how to thank you." Was this really happening? Was there really a chance for him, for his people? For the first time in a long time, Germany began to feel a sense of hope return.

"Tell you what," said America. "First, you promise no more starting World Wars. You know, 'cause they kind of stink. Second, Russia's getting really powerful. Like, _really _powerful. And I want you to promise to help me stop him."

"Yes," Germany said without hesitation. "I can promise that."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

Longer chapter, this time around. But, hey, the World Wars were kind of a big deal.

World War I: World War I began with the assisnation of Archduke Ferdinand, of Austria by a Serbian. So, Austria declares war on Serbia, Serbia calls in their ally, Russia, Austria calls in Germany and then the rest of Europe gets pulled along through a complex web of alliances that people have written several books on. Crazy times. Anyway, in 1918, Germany pretty much fell apart internally, and finally Kaiser Wilhelm II abdicated and Germany surrendered. The Treaty of Versailles was then signed, in May of 1919, ending the war, and putting almost the entire cost of the war on Germany's shoulders through huge reparations, which were also designed to stop Germany from ever being able to wage a major war again (we all know how well _that _worked out). Germany's economy collapsed, it's currency lost almost all its value, and poverty was rampant.

This, arguably, created the kind of climate in which Hitler and the Third Reich were able to rise to power, preying on the desperation of the German people. Hitler's subordinate in the story, by the way, was Heinrich Himmler, who founded and ran the SS and the Gestapo, and was arguably more extreme than Hitler himself in his beliefs.

World War 2: Started with the Nazi's invasion of Poland in September of 1939. The European front was won by the Allies in 1945 (though America was still fighting Japan on the Pacific front). The Kingdom of Prussia was formally dissolved by the Allies in 1947, and Germany and Berlin were split into four zones, controlled by France, England, the Soviet Union, and America respectively. Two power blocs (Russia in the east and the other Allies in the west) quickly emerged and Germany was literally caught in the middle.

Split of East and West Germany: After the two power blocs emerged, Germany was effectively spit into two countries: Communist East Germany controlled by the Soviet Union and Capitalist West Germany controlled by the other allies. West Germany (the Federal Republic of Germany) was formally made a country in 1949, though it did not recognize East Germany (Germany Democratic Republic) as a separate country until later. Note: East Germany and Prussia were not the same thing (a lot of former Prussian territory is now Polish) but that's what artistic license is for.

Blockade of Berlin: In 1948, the Soviet Union attempted to take control of all of Berlin, which was in the Soviet controlled territory, by blocking off all supplies from the city. The other Allies responded by airlifting supplies into Berlin (and yes, the chocolate bars on parachutes actually happened.) This was part of America's Marshall Plan, a plan which gave billions of dollars to help Europe rebuild after the war, including West Germany, against the Soviet bloc. The blockade was lifted after 11 months.

Thanks for reading, and please review :)


	6. What Divides Us

_(February 1975)_

It was too late for most visitors, Germany thought as he made his way down the stairs, rushing towards the door. And, burglars did not normally knock. Certainly not this enthusiastically, at least. The loud, fast knocking continued until the moment (and maybe a little past the moment) when he opened the door.

Both parties froze when he did.

Finally, he managed to stammer out, "I- Italy?"

"Um," the shorter nation said. "Hi, Germany."

Germany was at a loss. He hadn't really spoken to Italy since…not since the war. Not since they had nearly killed each other. Memories of the day he had found out that Italy had surrendered and defected to the Allies still haunted him. He had been so angry. But what his soldiers had done next…how could he forgive himself for allowing that? He had seen travesties done in war, but those were some of the worst. Of course, it was also then that he found out that Italy was not as pathetic in a fight as he seemed. Italy's people had resisted his armies, and then the Allies had driven him out of the country, though honestly Germany was glad of it. He had already done so much to hurt him.

_"Get out! Get away from us!"_

He remembered Italy screaming at him. The anger, and the tears streaming down his face. He hated that he had done that to his former ally; his friend.

They had seen each other, since then, yes. At world meetings, or with other nations, but they had never had a real conversation. They had exchanged a few pleasantries when it was unavoidable, and otherwise they avoided each other's gazes.

Germany was about to invite him in, when Italy suddenly started talking.

"I'm really sorry, Germany, and I know it's really late, but I had to talk to you. And I know you're probably still mad at me, and I wouldn't blame you if you were, I mean I was still kind of mad too, but I still wanted to talk to you, so that's why I came. And I need to say everything now before I get scared, because it's really, really important!"

He stopped for a breath. Then he started to speak again.

"I hate that I'm not talking to you anymore! You were my best friend, and I still care about you, even though things got really bad between us. I never wanted to hurt you, but my boss and my brother and everyone said we had to, and… and, I was scared of you too, of what was happening to you, and I wanted to stop it, but I didn't know how. But, I think you're better now, so it's okay for me to at least come and see you, right? But wait, that's not why I had to come. I know I was always a really weak ally, and I'm still weak, but- but I think I know why now. I think I stayed weak because I don't _want_ to be strong. I hate fighting, and every time someone I care about gets stronger or tries to get more power, something bad happens!" Germany's heart twisted in his chest as he saw tears start to form in Italy's eyes. "First my grandpa disappeared, and everyone I knew became mean and started to fight. And then… and then I lost Holy Rome, because he went to fight, too, only he didn't come back. Even though he promised he would, he never came back. And I thought I was going to lose you too! And I've been thinking, and I realized that if I did lose you too, I couldn't stand it!"

"Italy-" Germany began, but he got cut off again. Italy did not even seem to realize that he had said anything.

"So that's why I had to come. Because the whole world seems to want to start fighting again, with America or Russia, and I know that if they do start fighting, you'll be right in the middle. And I was so scared that something would happen, and I wouldn't have talked to you, so that's why I had to come now, even though Romano yelled at me and Switzerland shot at me again on my way here. I guess… I just want to say that I forgive you for everything, and I really hope you can forgive me too. And I want you to know that even though you didn't become the most powerful empire ever, I don't care. I like you better the way you are. So, are you still mad at me?"

Was this really happening, Germany wondered with disbelief. How could Italy be asking _him_ for forgiveness? How could Italy want anything to do with him, after all that he had done to him? Yet, there he was, about to burst into tears on his doorstep. He should probably say something.

"I- I'm not angry with you, Italy," he said, figuring it was a good start.

"Really?" Italy said, his expression brightening considerably.

"No. Of course not. I'm only surprised that you are not still angry with me."

Italy smiled at him. "Don't worry about that. Romano can stay mad enough for the both of us. So does that mean we can be friends again?"

Even after everything, he was so full of life, Germany reflected. He wanted nothing more than to invite Italy into his house, to talk with him, listen to him laugh, watch him cook… He had been so lonely, lately.

But he couldn't.

"Italy," he began. "I care very deeply for you. I want you to know that. But, maybe it is better if you don't associate with me." Italy was still so innocent. Why couldn't he see the monster standing before him? Well, if he wasn't going to see it, at least Germany could make sure he didn't make Italy suffer any more. And if this self-imposed exile was to be his punishment for all that he had done, so be it. He was ready to accept it.

"What do you mean," said Italy, crestfallen.

"You've…you've seen what I've done. What I'm capable of doing," Germany said. "I hurt you once. I will not allow that to happen again. Italy, I don't _deserve_ you."

He was prepared for Italy to cry, to plead, to walk away. Germany was prepared for anything except for precisely what came next.

Italy looked him square in the face and said, flatly, "I think that's stupid."

"What?"

"That's stupid," Italy repeated. "I mean, I still like you and you say you still like me, so why can't I be around you? What will making yourself lonely and miserable do to help anybody?" Italy asked. Germany realized that he didn't really have a good answer. "When we were allies, you saved me a lot. And now it's finally my turn to help you," he said, his beaming smile returning. "So, I am not going to leave this spot until you say we can be friends again. And you have to mean it," he added quickly.

Germany sighed. It was a familiar sigh. It was part mild frustration, part tried patience, and part warm affection. He hadn't sighed like that in a long time. He had only ever sighed like that for Italy.

"Very well, Italy. If it means that much to you, we can be friends again."

"Hooray!" Italy exclaimed as he jumped up and crushed Germany's rib cage in a hug. "We should celebrate with pasta! I'll go make some!" Italy darted past him, and ran into the house that Germany and America had rebuilt. "Hey, Germany!" Italy called. "Your kitchen moved!"

"Down the hallway on the left, second door," Germany called back. "And don't make a mess!"

"I won't!" Italy yelled. Germany followed him into the house, and watched as Italy gathered all the ingredients he would need. Germany hadn't realized until now that he had kept Italy's usual ingredients stocked in the kitchen all this time. Force of habit, he supposed.

In spite of the constant urge he had to clean the smudges he was sure Italy was making, Germany found that he enjoyed watching the jovial nation. Italy hummed to himself while he cooked, a familiar tune, though Germany could not actually place it. The smells of spices filled his kitchen and made the entire place seem warmer.

Steam rose from the two heaping bowls of pasta that Italy set on the table. It was past midnight now, and Germany knew that he should not be eating such a large meal this late, but he could not bring himself to care at the moment. He was just glad to have Italy back.

"Do you like it?" Italy asked eagerly. Germany nodded, and Italy replied with a wide smile. "I'm glad! It feels like such a long time since I could cook for somebody. Whenever I try and cook for Romano he says I should stop being frivolous and focus on important things. But I think food is important, don't you Germany?"

"I do," he said after swallowing another bite.

"Good! Then I can come and cook for you again?"

"Of course," Germany replied.

Together they ate all of the pasta Italy had made. Germany offered to let Italy spend the night, since it was so late, and was glad to see that Italy accepted.

"Let me show you were the guest bedrooms are," he said, leading Italy up the stairs and down another hallway.

"Thanks Germany," Italy said. Germany nodded, then excused himself so he could go and clean the kitchen.

There was not as much of a mess as he had expected, not that he minded, since he was getting rather tired. He first decided to clean off the dishes, and then he would clean the countertops before going to bed himself. It had been years since he'd had someone else's mess to clean up in the kitchen. He liked it. He missed having someone else around him. Someone other than politicians. True, he had friends and allies now who came to visit him, usually America, but they all had something else on their minds, and it was inevitably something of massive international importance. No one just came by for his company. But now Italy was here, for just that reason. Remembering the first day they had met, Germany could not help but think that he would have called anyone insane who told him just what kind of impact the other nation would have on him.

For some reason, that made him think of his brother. After all, Prussia had been the one to send him down to fight in Italy, without telling him at all what was in store. Prussia must have fancied it a good joke.

Germany sighed. He hadn't seen his older brother since the day Russia had dragged him away. He hadn't heard from him since that letter America had delivered on his behalf. Any information at all he had on Prussia's wellbeing came from Austria who only managed to get snippets thanks to Hungary. Other than that, he was unable to contact him directly, and neither of their governments would allow any sort of communication. And then the wall had gone up. God, he hated that thing. The night it had been raised had been one of the worst nights of his life. The agony, like someone was ripping him in half, had been almost too much to bear. If America hadn't been visiting him, and able to call a doctor, he didn't know what could have happened. That memory still gave him nightmares, sometimes.

Germany suddenly realized that he had been rinsing the same bowl for about ten minutes straight, but after shaking himself out of his musings, he managed to finish cleaning the kitchen.

We're both alive, he told himself. This Cold War can't last forever. There's time, as long as we can both be patient.

He had used that thought to reassure himself before, but it seemed to ring truer now. After all, Italy had come back, the one person he was sure would never forgive him. He would see his brother again as well.

Germany walked into his darkened room, flicked on a lamp, and then started suddenly as he saw something lying in his bed. But after a moment, he sighed, realizing it was just Italy. Wondering why he hadn't seen that coming, he changed, carefully folded his clothes, and climbed into bed, feeling Italy's warmth beside him.

* * *

><p><em>(February 1975)<em>

"Shh, Gilbird," Prussia whispered. "Sorry, buddy, I can't take you with me tonight."

The little yellow chick, looked mournfully up at him with his black eyes, but he nestled back into his little bed. Prussia sighed, wishing he could have the tiny bird's company, but he could not risk him making a noise at the wrong time. Besides, it was cold out that night, and he didn't want the poor little guy to freeze.

And so, under the cover of darkness, he climbed gingerly out of his window and moved as swiftly and as silently as he could down the side of the apartment building, using windowsills, the gutter, cracks in the wall, anything he could find as a hand or foothold. Prussia's room was five floors up, and a fall might alert the Vopos stationed around the building to his escape. Plus it would hurting like hell. Cold made his fingers stiff and clumsy, but still he climbed down, flinching at even the slightest noise. At last though, he was only a few feet up, and he let himself fall into a crouch. From that position, he sprung up, and darted down the first alleyway he could find. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him, but his pace was quick, nevertheless.

After a time walking unchallenged through the quiet streets, Prussia grinned and congratulated himself on his escape. Why he had decided to attempt it, or what he intended to do with his success, he did not know. But Russia had been watching his every move for far too long, and he was sick of it. He was sick of this entire place.

He supposed it would not have been so bad if he hadn't known that he was a prisoner there, in East Germany, his supposed country. The others liked to pretend otherwise. Some of the other Soviet countries visited him and acted as if there was nothing wrong; like they hadn't noticed the armed guards looming outside the building, or the camera outside his door, or the fact that his rooms were obviously bugged, or that the cleaning lady was reporting back to whatever secret police was shadowing him. Then there was the rank smell, the fumes of exhaust from those stupid, little Trabants. And more than anything else, he was sick of that damned wall.

Tall and ugly, the concrete monolith seemed to loom over him nonstop. The wall that kept him from his brother, his friends, and that kept him and the others captive. His wanderings had brought him within sight of the buffer zone, although he was careful not to get close enough to spook any of the wall's guards, who would not hesitate to shoot into the night. Getting shot after his daring escape would be entirely unawesome.

But there it was, right in front of him, challenging him, mocking him. Just on the other side was freedom from the Soviet's eyes and ears. There was Germany, who he hadn't been allowed to see since leaving him broken and beaten after the war. And just a buffer zone then a few feet of concrete in the way. Well, that and some armed guards and barbed wire. In spite of himself, Prussia grinned. He was not one to back down from a challenge, and he was feeling emboldened by his escape from his apartment.

First thing to do was to find a blind spot. He had looked before, so he had some idea of where to check. Trying to look and unsuspicious as possible, he sauntered near the buildings across from the wall, seeking out a chink in the armor. Surely there was a sleepy guard, or an unattended post, or just a spot where the posts couldn't see.

Finally, he found a suitable position. It was across from an alleyway, where he now stood, eyeing the potential opening. If he could rush up and climb the wall, maybe he could make it over, if he was fast enough. The wall was even in some disrepair here, so there were foot and handholds for him to use. The barbed wire was an issue, but that was something he could deal with. It was too perfect.

So he should not have been surprised when he felt the pressure of a knife tip at his back and heard a low voice say, "Don't move."

He rolled his eyes. So, one of Russia's dogs had sniffed him out after all. That was annoying. Still, he was the mighty Prussia! He could take down one measly guardsman. He whirled around to meet his would-be attacker head on.

"Oh shi-" he began, as soon as he saw the black bow sitting atop long, platinum blond hair. However, before he could even finish his curse, Belarus was on him. He managed to raise his arms in his defense and after a short scuffle, forced her to drop the ominous looking knife. But, after another confrontation, he was on the ground, with Belarus twisting his arm up, painfully, behind him and pressing her foot into his back.

"Geeze! Uncle! Uncle!" he called, but she only pressed down harder on his spine.

"What were you doing out here?" she hissed. "You were trying to run away from my big brother, weren't you?"

"Uh-" Prussia started.

"No one," she growled, "tries to leave my brother and gets away with it. You should be punished, punished, punished..."

"Bela?" another voice said. Prussia raised his head, and probably for the first time in his life, was actually glad to see Russia standing before him.

Belarus gasped. "Big brother!" she cried. "Why are you out so late?"

He shrugged. "Just out for a walk. But what are you doing?" he asked, looking down at Prussia, raising a curious eyebrow.

Her voice darkened again. "He wanted to leave us. I saw him. He wanted to cross over the wall. I saw him, brother."

A distressed look crossed Russia's face. "Is that true?" he asked.

"Damn right, it is," Prussia spat, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of his head warning him to be a little more cautious with his words.

"But, why?" Russia asked, looking genuinely hurt.

"Oh, why the hell do you think?" he said. The resentment that had been boiling up for years laced his voice with rage. "The fact that you and your stupid Union are strangling this place? The fact that no one can get a job, or how about the brother I haven't been allowed to see? Or the stupid cops outside my house! That enough of a reason for you?"

Russia, damn him, actually looked taken aback at the rage in Prussia's tone. Belarus let out a low growl. "How dare you say those things!" she cried. "I should rip your arm off for saying things like that to my big brother!"

"Wait, Bela," Russia said. "Don't do that." Then he addressed Prussia. "I'm sorry if this is hard for you. But we are a family now. All of us in the Soviet Union, we will make the world better, da? Everyone will be equal, and everyone will be happy. I'm sorry it's hard now, really, I am. I am having difficulties too, you know," he said sadly. "But just wait. Everything will get better soon."

Prussia gave a humorless laugh. "That's a load of crap and you know it. God, get some new propaganda already, we've heard that speech before." Russia looked surprised by Prussia's outburst. He was not used to anyone talking back to him.

So, against all wisdom, Prussia pressed on. "You're insane if you think this will get better. Admit it! You can't keep up!" he accused. "After all this crap, you just can't keep up with that kid across the pond! Funny thing, isn't it, that America can afford nice, shiny bombs for himself _and_ feed his people, huh?"

A sense of dread filled him as he looked at Russia's face. The sad, confused expression he had worn changed into a cold, and dangerous glare, directed straight at him. Prussia knew he had gone to far.

"Bela," Russia said, his voice now hard and sharp as steel, "break his arm."

As soon as he had said it, Prussia heard a sickening crack, and intense agony shot up his arm. He bit back a cry, not wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. But pain was blurring his vision, and he didn't even notice that Russia had advanced until he was practically right on top of him.

"Please, step aside, Bela," Russia ordered, and she obeyed immediately. Just as Prussia felt the pressure lift from his back, Russia's hand had reached down and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He was hauled to his feet, and Russia hit him hard, across the face, sending him reeling back into the ground. Before he could right himself, Russia had grabbed him again, and slammed him into the wall of the alleyway. Prussia saw stars as his the back of his head collided with hard brick, but he could still feel cold fingers curling around his neck.

He heard Russia chuckling. "You forgot, didn't you?" he said. "I tried to be kind to you, truly I did, but I guess that won't do." His fingers tightened, and Prussia had to gasp for breath. He brought his own hand to Russia's wrist, and attempted to pull the other nation's hand away, but his weak resistance did nothing. "I can crush you like an insect, if I wish," Russia said, icily. "Right now, if I wanted to, I could snap your delicate, little neck, and no one could stop me."

He was right, Prussia realized with horror. He hated admitting that, but even he could not deny it now, with the larger man's weight crushing him, helpless, against a wall.

"Do you think I have forgotten what you did to me?" Russia said, his violet eyes glinting dangerously. "It wasn't so long ago, you know. I haven't forgotten the millions of my people you and Germany killed. And I never will," he hissed. He brought his other hand up, and began to slowly run his fingers through Prussia's hair. "So much death, so much pain. And it was so cold," he said, his voice now growing distant. His eyes no longer met Prussia's. "He never paid properly for those lives. The others told me that retribution was pointless. But they didn't see what I did. They could never understand how my people suffered." Now Russia sounded as if he were close to tears. But that vanished as his gaze locked Prussia in again. "Germany could still be made to pay, though. A life for a life, after all. True, it's only one life, against millions, but the life of his brother? Perhaps that could help him feel at least some of the pain I felt?" Russia stroked his cheek. "Fitting retribution."

Now Prussia's struggle returned, with more vigor. Could Russia actually mean to kill him? And no matter how much he fought against him, it was useless. His broken arm hung limp at his side, and Russia grabbed his other wrist and pinned it against the wall, above his head. A terrible smirk crossed his icy cold face as he watched Prussia try and break free. He leaned forward, and moved his face to the crook of Prussia's neck, inhaling deeply, making Prussia shudder with disgust at the closeness. "The smell of this place is on you," he said, with a chuckle. "And you actually thought to run away?" He laughed again, sounding half mad. "You can't escape from me."

"Let go," Prussia said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Russia only gave him that deadly smirk, and tightened his hold.

"Do you understand how pointless it is to fight against me? I hold the power here. Me, no one else. You are all mine," he said, moving the hand on Prussia's neck up to his jaw. "All mine to do with as I please."

Prussia's tried again to jerk away, but he was practically being crushed by Russia's grip. So then he met Russia's steely, violet eyes. If he was going to die, at least he wasn't going to go out like a coward. Let the bastard look at his face while he killed him.

But, something had changed in Russia's demeanor. There was no malice in his stare now. It was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared. Instead there was…fear? Russia shoved him away, and Prussia fell to the ground, of course landing on his injured arm. He winced, and he heard Russia's voice behind him.

"Bela, get some VP officers to take him back to his apartment," he said quickly. Prussia noted that, yes, he did indeed sound afraid: like a child, who had heard too many ghost stories. Russia looked around him, as if expecting something to happen, but when nothing did, he ran off into the night. Belarus sent an ugly glare Prussia's way, before walking off, herself.

That left him alone in the alley, to massage his sore neck and an equally sore wrist. Before long though, certainly before he could think to run off again, some officers came and dragged him back to that apartment, and then doctor came after about an hour. None of them said anything. When the doctor left, Prussia had a fresh cast on his arm, along with the wound to his pride.

How could he have been so weak? He hadn't even put up a fight. Anger, frustration, and despair all welled up inside his chest, until it was all he could do to keep himself from throwing up.

Had he believed what he had said in the alley? About Russia not being able to keep up? It had to be true, or at least he had to believe it was. Frankly, it was the one glimmer of hope he had left. At this point, the other countries in the Soviet bloc were too afraid, too weak, or too loyal to oppose Soviet rule. And it wasn't as if he could work against his own people… No. No, these weren't his people. These were Germany's people too.

After all, he had long since come to terms with the fact that he was no longer a nation. It had happened so quickly, so easily. Just a quick resolution, a signed piece of paper, and the Kingdom of Prussia was no more. Honestly, it amused him, more than anything else. He supposed it should have upset him, since he had fought so hard to achieve his status as a country. But then what had it ever done for him?

In the end, he was a soldier. He had changed the world with the force of his armies, kicked Austria's ass a few times for good measure, brought up his little brother. Not a bad run, all things considered.

In spite of everything, he grinned to himself. Since there was no reason for that run to be over. He didn't need to be a stupid country to wreak a little havoc (and he had a diary to prove it). The wars may be colder, and the threats more dire, but he wasn't going to back down now.

He heard a tweeting sound, and then a little yellow ball of feathers came flapping into the room. It perched itself on his head, and started nuzzling his hair.

"Hey little guy," he said. "Miss me? Of course you did." The chick chirped again, and Prussia even managed a laugh. "Man, can't believe I almost left you behind," he said. It was true. How could he even think of leaving without Gilbird?

The little bird only cheeped and pecked lightly on his skull, bright, and innocent, and unaware.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note<strong>_

Welcome to the Cold War, everybody.

But first, some explanation of WW2 references:

German War Crimes in Italy: In September of 1943, the Italian government began secret negotiations to defect to the Allies, which were then made public on September 8th. German forces gave many captured Italian troops the option of continuing to fight with them, and those that refused were sent to forced labor camps in Germany. The murder of several thousand Italian prisoners of war after the battle on Cephallonia in 1943 is considered one of the worst single war crimes committed by the Wehrmacht (the German army during WW2).

Nazi's Invasion of the Soviet Union: Since Hitler apparently didn't get the memo about what happens to people who try and invade Russia (seriously, look it up, it never ends well), he invaded the Soviet Union in summer of 1941. After a brutal war, German forces actually came very close to succeeding. But by 1944 it was the Soviets poised to invade Germany. Hundreds of thousand of soldiers, and around 25 million Soviet citizens lost their lives.

And now back to the Cold War,

The Berlin Wall: Erected in August of 1961, almost literally over night, the Berlin Wall split East and West Germany, going right through the middle of Berlin. Streets, railways, subways, even cemeteries were split. The German Democratic Republic (GDR), aka East Germany, put up the wall to stop the massive emigration of people from East to West Germany. On the Eastern side of the wall, there was a buffer zone with armed guards. The Western side, on the other hand, was covered with graffiti protesting it.

Thanks for reading, and (obviously) reviews are appreciated.


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